


Brother Mine: Who We Come From

by Wind_Ryder



Series: Brother Mine Collection [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: British Government, Brotherhood, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Eating Disorders, Gen, Kidnapping, Mental Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-21 05:25:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 49,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1539305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wind_Ryder/pseuds/Wind_Ryder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft Holmes knew there was something wrong with his older brother. He could see it in the way that he moved, the way that he smiled, the way that he spoke. To everyone else he was a perfect child: happy, grateful, and kind. But Mycroft knew better, and he would do everything he could to keep his younger brother as far away from him as possible.</p><p>Sometimes though, he fails.</p><p>(Repost of original Brother Mine stories, now compiled into one story for easy download/accessibility).</p><p>Warnings: Eating difficulties, possibly seen as beginning of eating disorder mentioned in chapter two. Potential triggers. While not explicitly described as an eating disorder, can be viewed as such.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is completed and will be updated very quickly. It is already posted on AO3 in individual files per chapter, but has now been compiled into one spot for easy download and reading. From this point on, all Brother Mine updates will be part of THIS SERIES on AO3.
> 
> The second "book" of Brother Mine, "Who We Learn From" will be posted as soon as this section has finished updating. 
> 
> Much thanks to my brilliant Beta reader: Chanel.

**Chapter:**

 

While there were few people in the world that Mycroft hated with every fiber of his being, his older brother was one such person. Sherrinford Holmes had enjoyed being an only child and detested the thought of one sibling, let alone two.

 

Mycroft knew that Sherrinford disliked him, but he loathed their youngest brother. Mycroft learned to step aside and avoid conflict early on. But William seemed determined to incite Sherrinford's displeasure.

 

William pestered him with the kind of passion a blunt instrument took to bashing a delicate surface. It was crude, and effective, but rarely achieved the desired result. He was loud and obnoxious. He cried for attention. He begged to be noticed, and Mycroft was certain one day Sherrinford was going to kill him.

 

Sherrinford was convinced that William arrived in their household to purposefully antagonize him. The only peace he would achieve would be to either leave the home or force the boy to come to heel. But Mycroft braced himself by William’s crib each night, ready to defend it at all costs.

 

Mycroft soothed his baby brother’s wails. He played with him, made him laugh, took him as far away from Sherrinford as possible. He kept the house silent and did what he could to insure nothing ignited more of the older boy’s anger.

 

Their parents were kind enough, but they were oblivious to their children. They travelled often and trusted Sherrinford implicitly. They left him in charge for weeks on end while they moved from place to place. Mycroft never begrudged their constant desire to leave, nor did he think anything of it.

 

The idea of attending school was abhorrent. He was happy enough to teach his brother what he needed to know, and they read endless amounts of books to pass the time. Without their parents for guidance or education, Mycroft couldn't fathom what their point was. They were an irritant, nothing more. An irritant that oohed and ahhed at Sherrinford and thought him to be the epitome of perfection. Mycroft hated them. 

 

When they were gone, Mycroft read their mother’s mathematic textbooks to William to put him to sleep.  When he was older, Mycroft introduced him to various and intriguing games to occupy his mind. Their home became a palace of learning and curiosity. William begged to be read to, and to play-act the historical battles that he was "researching."

 

That, of course, was what they called it: research. They were researching fairy-tales, researching pirates, researching biology and chemistry. When they weren’t researching they were memorizing, deducing, and educating themselves. Mycroft refused to give their parents an excuse to send them to school. He wanted to stay away from the rest of the world and never be bothered.  They could take care of themselves.

 

 Mycroft knew that the outside world was incapable of handling itself, let alone anyone else, and he wanted no part of it. He wanted William to have no part in it. “You would never fit in out there.” Sherrinford had said, time and again. “You’re backwards and bizarre. You can’t even talk to our parents and have them understand you, but you think that people out there will manage it?”

 

Mycroft, only once, had left home in an attempt to prove Sherrinford wrong. It turned out; his older brother hadn’t been lying. When he met other children, he found them to be so boring and slow that he couldn't understand how they managed to function. They were stupid, ignorant, incipient individuals that fretted over the smallest qualms. William, of all people, was brighter than most of the adults that he’d come across, and he was a child! It was unbelievable, and Mycroft had been so determined to prove his brother wrong. He hated that Sherrinford had been correct, but he was wise enough to accept it for what it was. The world was useless, and he was much better off at home. There, there was only one monster to fear. He could handle that.

 

He made it his greatest effort to never repeat the process and stayed far away from town if he could help it. Sherrinford managed the dull people in the world outside just fine. He enjoyed it even, and every so often Mycroft watched him interact with the townspeople. It was a fascinating transformation each time. Sherrinford morphed himself like a chameleon as he spoke to each person. He was never one man, and he managed to convince everyone he met to do whatever he asked of them.

 

Mycroft didn't understand how his brother managed to appear so calm and friendly to everyone who passed by. Sherrinford was cruel, hateful, and angry. Yet to their neighbours he seemed like a rational and content child, with a strong sense of duty, that looked after his siblings well. Their stupidity only served to make Mycroft's opinions towards them grow worse over time.

 

But Mycroft knew Sherrinford's abilities better than most. He knew just how he managed to seep into the minds of those around him, twisting them to his will. All he needed to do is make a suggestion and everyone fell into place. He was a puppet master, he enjoyed his game.

 

William was Sherrinford's easy target for manipulation. He did whatever was asked of him in double time. It would have been sad, if Mycroft thought he had any chance of standing up to his older brother. The boy was only six, though, and there wasn't much hope for that.

 

Sherrinford had taken to making up nicknames for both his brothers, and he used them often enough for them to catch on. William now insisted on calling Mycroft “Mike,” something Mycroft hated with every fiber of his being. Every time he heard the name he could hear Sherrinford’s voice spin around the shortened letters and grate his nerves. It felt wrong.

 

William never noticed his dissatisfaction. He used it often and never seemed willing to lengthen it. He walked up to Mycroft and called to him with that hated name, and because he was a good brother, Mycroft always answered.

 

“What do you want, Will?” He always asked in reply.

 

While William was slow at times, Mycroft couldn't help but love him. He'd always answer him. He couldn't help it. At six, the boy was all elbows and knees, protruding joints that dug into Mycroft’s body whenever he went to do something. If Mycroft hadn’t had proof to the contrary, he would’ve been under the impression the boy couldn’t walk on his own. William climbed up people like cats did to trees, and he settled himself wherever was convenient.

 

He rushed to Mycroft the moment his name left his brother’s lips and scrambled up his body. He gripped his limbs, dug his heels into Mycroft's hips, and clung to his neck as an anchor. He wrapped his legs around Mycroft's waist, let loose a torrent of words from his throat. He chatted away; speaking so fast that Mycroft couldn't understand him at times.

 

His voice was too loud and it carried through their house. Mycroft settled his brother into a more comfortable position as Sherrinford’s footsteps grow louder. He was getting irritated, and Mycroft cast an eye towards the door. They should leave.

 

Mycroft hadn’t been listening to his little brother. He was brought back to attention when a sharp prod hit between his ribs. “Whatever was that for, William?” He asked in frustration, and the boy had the audacity to pout at him.

 

“You weren’t paying attention.” The boy told him in annoyance. Mycroft sighed and adjusted his hold on the child. He was gaining weight. Mycroft wondered how tall the boy might grow, he hoped it was smaller than him. It would be nice to at least continue to have some leverage over his mouthy little brother. “I want to get a pet, will you help me?”

 

The idea was abhorring, and Mycroft grimaced. His eyes wandered towards the ceiling where he could all but hear Sherrinford starting to make his way towards them. His arms tightened around his little brother, and he started to move them towards the back door. It’d be easier to talk if they were outside. William’s hands gripped Mycroft’s shirt tight, and he turned his head to press it against Mycroft’s cheek. William never understood why Sherrinford was untrustworthy, but he knew Mycroft avoided him. He never complained outright when he was carried away from their older brother. He just accepted it as fact.

 

Mycroft had almost reached the door when Sherrinford descended the stairs and turned the corner. He looked at them with a fierce scowl. “What on earth are you two doing?” He asked as he stalked closer to them. Mycroft opened his mouth to speak, when William piped up.

 

“I asked Mike for a pet, and he’s going to help me get one.” He announced with a smile, hands still clenched around Mycroft’s shirt as though his life depended on it.

 

“A pet?” Sherrinford asked, moving towards them. Mycroft’s hand tingled on the door knob. “What kind of pet do you want, Willie?” William frowned, and Mycroft felt his throat go dry.

 

“Will. It’s Will. I don’t like Willie.” Sherrinford laughed at that, before he leaned down, great back arching with devastating poise.

 

“That’s not for you to decide is it? If I’m to call you something, might as well be something I like saying, isn’t that right, Willie?”

 

“No.” William said, shaking his head and knocking curls in every direction. “No that’s not how it works. I don’t like it, do away with it.”

 

“Well I don’t like you much, does that mean I can just do away with you?” William’s mouth fell open in something akin to shock and Mycroft forced his hand to twist the knob and open the backdoor.

 

“We’ll just be outside. I’ll feed him.” Mycroft said quickly as he pushed the door open and moved to step outside. Sherrinford’s hand snapped out to grip Mycroft’s shoulder, stilling him. His other hand reached around to slip through William’s curls, holding his head steady.

 

“Don’t be out too long.” He warned them sotto voce, before pulling away and letting them leave. Mycroft flew out the door. He hurried, one foot in front of the other, not stopping until they were well into the woods. They lost sight of their ill painted house soon enough. William was quiet the whole time, and for once he didn’t squirm in Mycroft’s arms as they escaped into the great outdoors.

 

After a time, the boy’s weight grew too much for Mycroft to be able to handle, and he carefully lowered his brother down onto the ground. William’s hand immediately found his, and he clenched it tight. “What kind of pet do you want?” Mycroft asked, anxious to discuss anything aside from what had just transpired. He could hear his heart beating out a rapid tat-too in his chest. He was uncomfortable, and he hated the feeling more than anything else.

 

“You’re scared of him.” William said, ignorant of Mycroft’s attempts to ignore the experience.

 

“I am not.” It was a futile defense and one that not even the simpletons that lived in town would believe.

 

“You ran away.” William pointed out. His nose was scrunched up in thought. Mycroft knew better than to try to dissuade him of this opinion too. William’s mind connected events and memories easily, and he knew how to give those events meaning. It was one of the few things that made him a worthwhile companion in the first place. He wouldn't believe it if Mycroft attempted to deny their flight. It was futile to try.

 

“Tactical retreat.” Manipulating the situation, though, worked often enough.

 

“Like Napoleon?” William asked, tilting his head up to look at Mycroft with an analytical expression on his face.

 

“I suppose so.” He agreed. A noise echoed through the woods and his heart leaped once more. His hand tightened around William's grip, and he bit his lower lip in concern. He looked about them with sharp eyes, but there was no one there. There never was.

 

“Definitely afraid.” William muttered mutinously. Mycroft’s glared at him and squeezed his hand hard in response. The boy yelped and yanked his hand back, rubbing it in annoyance. “I didn’t do anything wrong!” He shouted, and Mycroft grimaced at the words.

 

“Of course not, brother mine, it was an accident.”

 

“I don’t like being called that either.” William decided, looking around for a tree to climb up and get injured on. He found the most likely candidate and dug his fingers into the bark. He was half way up the tree before Mycroft could so much as attempt a protest. All the while scrambling up it like a squirrel. Mycroft had given up trying to quell his brother’s incessant urge to climb things long ago. Instead, he found the most likely spot William would pitch out of the tree should he lose his grip and prepared to catch him if he fell.

 

“‘Brother mine?’” Mycroft confirmed, and William shouted his agreement.

 

“He says it all the time.” William explained, yelling down to him. “Just to be contrary.” Mycroft could only see William's shirt now, and he wondered if it was worth telling the boy to at least stay in eye sight. Probably not.

 

“You are his brother. It’s not contrary.” Mycroft replied.

 

“He doesn’t act like our brother.” William complained. “How come he never joins us?” 

 

“You heard him yourself, Will, he doesn’t like us.”

 

“No. He said he didn’t much like me, he didn’t say that to you.”

 

“Plural you, dear brother, you do know that you comes in plural form.” There was an annoyed huff.

 

“In context – it was at me.”

 

“You can be recalcitrant all you want, but the world does not revolve around you Will. It was plural. We’re equally disliked.”

 

“The world revolves around the sun!” William exclaimed, and Mycroft rolled his eyes at his brother’s obvious lack of attention. There was an ominous creak, and he shouted up a warning, that was completely ignored, and a snap echoed through the woods. Mycroft jumped out of the way as a stick fluttered down towards him. Looking up again, he caught sight of William hugging onto a sturdier branch like a monkey.

 

“Careful!”

 

“I’ve never fallen before.” William argued stubbornly.

 

“Let’s not test that theory. In that position you’d break your spine and be dead. Would you like to be dead?”

 

“Will Sherry play with us if I die?” William asked curiously. Mycroft wished he could understand where his brother came up with such foolish ideas, half of them didn't make any sense.

 

“Of course not, Will. He’ll not even visit your tombstone. You’ll be alone in that grave and you won’t even realise who comes and goes because you’ll be dead.”

 

“But I could be a ghost and haunt him. That could be fun.”

 

“It wouldn’t be.” Mycroft said. “Who would you speak to?”

 

“Other ghosts. You could die too, and then we’d haunt him together. Will you die with me, Mycroft?” It was true: his brother was an idiot.

 

“No. Now get down from there and I’ll show you an ant colony I found.” William practically jumped from branch to branch in his haste to descend. At one point he swung and hovered in air until he caught the next limb, summersaulting at the end and landing on his feet in perfect form. Mycroft hated his acrobatics.

 

He released a long suffering sigh, caught his little brother's hand again, and led the way through the woods. William hopped from one foot to the other, prattling on and on about ghosts and the idea of coming back from the dead. This past month he'd read through Frankenstein, Dracula, and another monster novel before that. It had had an obvious effect on him. He didn't seem to grasp the concept that the dead stayed dead forever. It was almost tragic how delusional he was.

 

By the time they’d come to the ant colony, Mycroft was more than happy to distract his brother's death ridden tirade. He had just begun a dissertation on the pranks zombies could play, and Mycroft was sick of it already. He all but shoved William to his knees by the colony and motioned towards the hill with a jerking motion. William’s mouth finally snapped closed as he peered over the colony with avid interest.

 

“Now, these ants are not poisonous-” Mycroft began.

 

“They come in poison?” William was far too excited by the prospect, and Mycroft wished he could understand what was so fascinating with that.

 

“They have poisonous varieties, yes.”

 

“Where?”

 

“All over, their coloration is redder, ranging from a dark to light. Their bites hurt far worse than these black ones, though of course the black ants rarely bite." He paused for a moment, considering. Then he continued. He explained about the strength of the ant body, their standard food source, their general habitat. He told his brother about the hierarchy of the ants, and how ants were born. He even discussed tunnel creation and construction.

 

The whole while, William looked at him with wide eyes. He was intent on remembering everything Mycroft told him. He always did. So far, Mycroft hadn't known him to forget a thing. "The pet shop in town may have an ant farm colony for sale. There, you would be able to see the ants’ living in their tunnels and collecting food each day.”

 

“Can we go now?” William asked, abandoning the colony and Mycroft without so much as a second glance. He was hurrying as fast as he could towards town, little legs carrying him as fast as he could go. He was determined, Mycroft gave him that. Endeavoring to catch his brother, Mycroft double timed it after the boy. 

 

“We don’t have any money, and we’d have to ask Mummy and Daddy.” William was either ignoring him, or didn’t hear him over his own focused thinking. Both were likely, and both were the most insufferable traits Mycroft felt his brother possessed. “Will…Will, we can’t get the farm now. We have to ask permission.”

 

“Mummy and Daddy are never home. It’s not like they’ll notice.”

 

“They might.” Mycroft hissed, snatching William’s arm into his hand and jerking him to a stop. The boy tripped over himself in the process and when he looked up at Mycroft he looked close to tears.

 

“Why can’t I have an ant farm, Mike?”

 

“Because we can’t get you a pet, let alone several dozen pets, without permission, that’s why!”

 

“But they’ll never notice! They’re stupid!”

 

“They’re not as stupid as you.” William flinched, and Mycroft sighed. “Come along, let’s go back to the colony. We can still watch them for a while.”

 

“Don’t want to.” William said, face falling faster than ever. His eyes grew watery and his bottom lip blubbered somewhat. “Just go home and read.” He made to move away, but Mycroft didn’t budge.

 

“No.” He insisted, shaking his head. “No, not yet. It’s not dark yet, there’s plenty of time. We shouldn’t go back just yet.” Tears started to press out of William's eyes, and Mycroft sank to his knees in front of him. He pulled the boy to his chest and hugged him close. “I’m sorry, William. But not just yet.”

 

“When you’re not scared of Sherry anymore?”

 

“Yes. Yes William, when I’m not scared of Sherry anymore.” Mycroft allowed, because the idea of going back to that house, right at that moment, was too terrifying for him to imagine. He couldn’t do it. Better yet: he wouldn’t do. Especially not with William attached to his side.

 

"Okay. Okay." William wrapped his arms around his older brother's neck, buried his nose into Mycroft's throat. Feeling a bit of added pressure as suggestion, the teenager pulled him upwards and wrapped his arms around his body. He carried William back to the colony, and they sat together side by side until well after the sun had set.

 

Neither said much of anything, but William sat curled up beside his brother. He didn't try to get away again, and even dozed a little under the sun. It would be hard to keep William completely oblivious to the things that happened in the house the more he grew older. He was an idiot, but he memorized everything. He only needed exposure to something once to feel the complete effects of it. Soon, William would cotton on to the type of person their brother was. When he did, Mycroft only wished that it wasn't going to harm William forever. Chances were: it would. It had for Mycroft, after all.

 

When it was finally time to head back, they walked through the woods as quiet as could be. Mycroft quizzed his brother on the stars and constellations, and William told him each one that he could remember. He missed a few here or there, but it was acceptable. Their parents would be proud, whenever they got home that is.

 

They slipped in the back. The lights were out in the house and Mycroft let out a sigh of relief. Sherrinford had left. They could make dinner and then read a book and nothing would happen for the rest of the evening. He led William over to the kitchen and helped him hop onto the countertop where he could swing his legs and ‘help’ cook dinner.

 

Mycroft longed for a quick and easy meal that was not going to cause a mess or keep them too long. He hated staying out in the open to be found, and he always listened for the sounds of someone approaching. He located some bread and cheese, eager to make a simple sandwich and be done with the whole process.

 

William chatted as he worked, and Mycroft made a few encouraging noises that were in no way responsive. He usually failed at being a conversationalist until they made it back to bed. William gave up on him every time and snatched a book from the counter to read. He flipped through the pages at a sedate pace, and Mycroft listened to the pages turn as he worked. Each page seemed to be taking a longer time than normal, and he glanced over his shoulder to see what William had chosen.

 

From the cover, he was reading a math book of sorts. It was a simple thing meant for simple children, algebra or trigonometry or some such nonsense. Mycroft didn’t even know when it had gotten on the counter, but it must have migrated there at one point or another.

 

He had just finished serving the sandwiches on a plate, when a thought struck Mycroft that he hadn’t considered before. “Will, whose book is that?”

 

“Dunno.” He replied with a single lifted shoulder. Panic set in on instinct, and Mycroft snatched the text from the boy’s hands. William was screaming in an instant. “Give it back! I was reading it! It’s mine!”

 

“It’s not yours, it’s not either of ours. You know you can’t touch things that aren’t yours!”

 

“I was reading it!”

 

“It doesn’t matter!”

 

“It does! Give it back!”

 

“Be quiet, Will!” Mycroft hissed as he batted away his brother’s grabbing fingers. “Can’t you just be quiet?!”

 

“What for?!”

 

“You’re causing an utter racket, that’s what for.” Both brothers froze at the sound of Sherrinford’s light-hearted tone. They turned to see him standing at the entrance to the kitchen, shirt missing and robe sprawled over his shoulders. His hair was mussed and his skin flushed. Mycroft immediately pushed the book back onto the counter and dragged William off it. The boy kicked and fussed the whole way, but his complaints had much less fight in them than usual. 

 

More footsteps approached the kitchen, and Mycroft glanced towards the door. A young woman appeared behind Sherrinford’s shoulder, hair mussed and clothes rumpled. She made a half-hearted effort to fix them, before exclaiming: “Oh! I didn’t realize your brothers were so cute. They’re adorable, Sherry!” She said in an oozing voice that was bizarre and out of place in the tense environment of their kitchen.

 

“Aren’t they? I couldn’t agree more. Willie, come here and say hello to Elizabeth.” Sherrinford said with a smile, moving forwards and motioning at William. The boy didn’t move, glancing between his eldest brother and his guest with rapid glimpses.

 

“You just had sex.” He said, voice oozing with curiosity. Mycroft gripped his shoulder hard, and wished his brother could manage to be far less of an idiot on a more regular basis. Elizabeth moaned in embarrassment, though Sherrinford managed to look amused by the comment. He stepped closer to them, and his eyes glittered with something fierce.

 

“Aren’t you a clever one?” Sherrinford asked him, tone just managing to carry some form of brevity. William’s mouth fell open somewhat, and he looked to Mycroft in amazement. Sherrinford never complimented him. Ever. The possible sarcasm escaped William completely, and all he heard was the compliment. It was awful. Then, Sherrinford's eyes traveled towards their sandwiches. “Is that what you two are having for dinner?” He motioned towards the plates.

 

“Yes. We were going to go out again after.” Mycroft hurried to say before William had any more brilliant ideas.

 

“It’s far too late for that, Mike. And, look at the state of this. No wonder the pair of you never gain any weight at all. Might as well eat together, hm? I’ll make supper?” Sherrinford swept the sandwiches straight into the bin before tossing the plates into the sink.

 

“Now Sherry! What a waste of food.” Elizabeth complained immediately, though she laughed not long afterwards. “What can I do to help?”

 

“No, no no. My treat, for you and my brothers. I should have done this ages ago, but they took so long getting back. It’s my fault after all.” William looked to Mycroft like he couldn’t quite work out what was happening. For a moment, neither did Mycroft. He felt his stomach twist and turn as he watched pans start appearing on the oven. “Please, I’m happy to make dinner.”

 

“You’re so kind!” Elizabeth gushed, and Mycroft grit his teeth as he watched her lean over his brother and press her lips to his cheek. Sherrinford gave her a bright smile and then returned to his task. “So…how old are you Willie?” Elizabeth asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

 

“Six years, two months, fourteen days.” He replied immediately, turning to look back at her.

 

“Wow! That’s precise, counting down to your next birthday then?” She asked with a laugh.

 

“No.” He said immediately. She faltered somewhat, but one couldn’t claim her to not be persistent.

 

“What do you like to do for fun then?”

 

“Research with Mycroft.” He said on instinct and Mycroft felt an unusual burst of fondness for his brother. It wasn’t often that he was caught off guard by something William said or did, but that was a particularly well placed shot.

 

“Research?” She gasped and began playing with a strand of her hair. “What do you research?”

 

“Today we researched ants and their cultural hierarchy, as well as their environmental co-dependency on the variety of subspecies in this area. We’ll be looking for poisonous ants, and comparing them to their non-venomous cousins next.” The look on Elizabeth’s face was almost enough to make Mycroft laugh. She seemed so flabbergasted that she didn’t know what to say at all. She glanced at Sherrinford who refused to turn to look back at his brother at all, and acknowledge what had just left this mouth. When she glanced towards Mycroft for help, he refused to give her the satisfaction of agreeing that the statement was odd.

 

“I…I see…” Elizabeth said, raising her nails to her mouth to nibble on them.

 

Mycroft glanced at Sherrinford the whole while, scanning him for any sign on where this night was going and what was coming or them. His brother continued playing perfect host, though. He teased Elizabeth with gentle jokes and great smiles, he ruffled William's hair as he cooked them a brilliant meal.

 

Afterwards, he cleaned the dishes, and even walked Elizabeth to her house three streets away. “Don’t wander off in the dark, Mike. Could be dangerous.” Sherrinford told them before leaving. As soon as the door clicked shut, Mycroft dragged his little brother upstairs and forced him ready for bed. 

 

William pulled on his pirate pajamas that their mother had bought for him, then went to find a book. Mycroft usually read to him for a while before turning off the light and crawling into his own bed to sleep. Their shared room was something Mycroft had begged their parents' for, and he never regretted the decision. He as happy to be able to keep an eye on his brother, -both of them, whenever the need arose to watch both.

 

No sooner had Mycroft finished pulling his clothes on, did he turn to find William preparing to jump from his bookcase. He caught the boy mid leap, and carried him to bed. He tugged the covers over his little brother’s shoulders he inspected the book they were going to read together. It was about pirates. He almost laughed, but refrained from doing so. It was always about pirates.

 

He sat on the bed, William reached out and snuggled against his side. They sat together, for another hour, reading their book in peace. Mycroft wished he could say William would grow out of this phase one day, but it might be asking for too much. William's obsession was almost endearing, and it was harmless for now.

 

As time passed, William’s fingers gripped Mycroft’s shirt tighter. He made a quiet keening noise every so often, wriggling until Mycroft told him to sit still. Usually he wasn’t this fidgety and went to sleep without too much complaint. He was out like a light after the second chapter most evenings, but he was being difficult that night.

 

“My?” William mumbled after his older brother finished one of the battles.

 

“Are you still awake?” Mycroft asked him, frustrated.

 

“Don’t feel good.”

 

“You have to go to bed, Will. I don’t want to be up reading to you all-” He never finished. William twisted to the other side of the mattress in a frenzied move that left him tangled in a heap as he heaved sick over the side of their bed. Mycroft jumped back in horror, dropping the book onto the ground and catching his brother by his shoulders to help prop him up.

 

William’s neck and face was burning hot. He was shivering too, and Mycroft immediately pulled his brother upright. In less than a second, he scooped him up and out of bed. For once, William didn’t try to shift into a better position, and he let himself be carried bridal style. His head lolled back and his eyes fluttered. When Mycroft called his name, he didn't respond. 

 

“Will? Will, wake up.” Mycroft shook his brother’s body hard, and the boy’s blue eyes blinked up at him in confusion. “Will-”

 

“My…don’ feel good…” William mumbled once more. They’d barely made it to the bathroom before William was vomiting again. Mycroft shoved his head over the toilet in hopes of maintaining the mess. The smell of was putrid, but he held his brother nonetheless.

 

His own stomach was churning, but he ignored it as he stood to reach the medicine cabinet. William was sobbing now, tears slipping down his face as he was wracked with another set of debilitating nausea. He rubbed his throat unconsciously, crying hysterically the whole while.

 

There were no anti-pyretics in the medicine cabinet, and Mycroft cursed as he checked on his brother once again. He was far too hot. His eyes were glazing somewhat and now his breathing was getting shallow. “Will? Will…I…” Mycroft felt a tight tug in his bowels and he pressed a hand to his mouth as sick started to climb up his throat. He swallowed hard, but the inclination to purge grew too much. William yelped in surprise as Mycroft became sick as well.

 

“Now…just what have you two gotten into now?” Sherrinford’s voice was like ice down Mycroft’s spine. He turned to look over his shoulder and stared up at his older brother dumbly. He didn’t look surprised, nor even a slight bit concerned. Instead, his lips were twisted into an almost amused expression. Mycroft’s hands clenched and unclenched as he struggled to work through what they should be doing.

 

“Food poisoning.” William’s voice echoed off of the tiled walls, and Mycroft desperately wished that he’d just stayed silent. Sherrinford’s grin split wide and he stalked into the bathroom.

 

He leaned over them both, and Mycroft pushed his hands out – desperate to keep him back. It was useless, and he could feel his limbs shaking under the effort. Another urge to vomit was starting to curl in his gut and he could feel his bowels preparing for their own release of fluids.

 

“Unwise, brother mine, to say things that you don’t know a thing about. Most unwise.” Sherrinford leaned down and pressed a kiss to William’s head. “Come, you need a doctor.” Then he pulled William up off the ground, ignored him as he weakly pushed against him, and glanced down his nose to Mycroft. “Aren’t you coming as well, brother mine?” He asked simply.

 

Then he turned, and he carried William away. Mycroft raised a shaking hand to the sink, and pulled himself upright. He followed without another word.

 

What other choice did he have?


	2. Kindest Word For Stupidity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Mycroft and William return from the hospital, Sherrinford is there to look after them.
> 
> When their parents finally come home from abroad, they don't notice the changes in their children.
> 
> Mycroft makes a decision that will change their lives forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my beta reader: Chanel. 
> 
> All mistakes are mine!

**Chapter:**

 

Sherrinford charmed the doctors with ease. He asked all the right questions and showed just the right amount of concern. He pulled William into his lap, stroked his fever soaked hair and whispered tales of pirates into his brother's ear.

Mycroft had insisted on being in the bed next to William. Through the pain, nausea, and exhaustion, he  forced himself to stay awake the whole night to watch. He didn't trust Sherrinford, and he refused to take his eyes off of him. It was a useless endeavor. Sherrinford would never attempt murder surrounded by so many people. Every so often, his older brother would smile towards him and ask how he was feeling. It felt like a stab in the chest each time.

When they finally returned home, Mycroft brought William straight to bed. The six year old's fragile body hadn't handled his illness well. The dehydration and nutrient loss was extreme. He slept like the dead and the analogy grated on Mycroft’s nerves as he hugged the boy to his side and refused to let him go.

“I’ll let you both sleep. Try to get some rest, Mike. It’s for the best.” Sherrinford told them, voice low and soothing. He flicked the lights off and closed the door to their room without so much as a backward glance. Mycroft shivered in the dark, and ran a hand over his brother's curls. The fever was gone, but the memory of his brother's ragged breathing and wide eyes remained.

William had been sick before. He'd been miserable and aching the whole while, but he had never been so scared. Mycroft suspected that was what hurt the most. William had trusted Mycroft to keep him safe, and he had failed to do so. He'd failed, and William hadn't had a simple illness. He'd been poisoned in his own home.  

Almost a week passed before William felt well enough to move out of bed and do more then poke at the food that was set before him. Mycroft fixed him soup from the can, and sat by his side the whole while. When William moved to sit with Mycroft as he cooked, Sherrinford decided it was time to play an active role in his recovery.  He insisted on making them lunch, and the moment the food was placed before them, he smiled. 

"Aren't you hungry, brother mine?" Sherrinford asked William. Mycroft watched in silence as William reached for his utensils and struggled through the meal. His eyes were watery as he forced the food into his mouth, and each mouthful seemed like a testament to his tenacity.

No one was surprised when William was sick again that night. His fever spiked, his energy dropped, and he was delirious once more. This time, Sherrinford didn’t take them to the hospital. Instead, he shoved a fistful of drugs in Mycroft's direction and told him to handle it.

Four months later, William refused to eat at all. Every time food was put in front of him, he crossed his arms over his chest and denied it. Sherrinford enjoyed pretending that he didn't know why William was acting the way he was. Mycroft loathed his older brother even more.

When Mycroft finally managed to get William to eat something, Sherrinford found new ways to hover nearby. He'd stand by William's elbow, waving a hand over his plate. 

“Come now, brother mine, not hungry in the least?” Sherrinford asked William whenever he saw him making an attempt to eat. The boy would always try to escape, and would always fail. Sherrinford’s hand would squeeze down on William’s shoulder and reach for his fork. “Eat, Willie. Or you’ll waste away like a dead thing still living. You’ll be little more than Frankenstein’s monster awaiting its end.” If William still resisted, Sherrinford would force the fork into William’s mouth. Sometimes a tine would spear William’s lip, and blood would drip down his chin. If he still resisted, Sherrinford would hold him down with more force and continue to ply more and more food into his mouth.

“Not eating is unwise, brother mine. Remember that.”

When he left, William would sit still and stare at his plate for a long while. Mycroft knew better than to try to speak to him, he never wanted to talk. He only wanted to leave, and leave he did. William always left the house and went to the woods. They were lucky if he came back before dark. Or at least, Mycroft considered dully, he was lucky. He doubted Sherrinford cared much either way. 

Their parents came back almost a month after William's decision to abstain from eating began. They brought with them dozens of presents and endless amounts of good humor. Mycroft half wondered if his parents lived in a world of utter delusion. Neither of them noticed anything wrong.  Neither Mycroft nor William gave a damn about the presents they were brought. Trinkets and toys were useless, as were parents who did nothing to help them when they needed it. 

Sherrinford was their parent's favorite. He always let their mother fawn over him. He was their doting boy, getting them everything they needed and doing exactly as he was told. He never could resist manipulating a room when he had the opportunity. Sherrinford filled their father’s wine glass with a smile. He massaged their mother's shoulders with a laugh. He even listened to their stories with an expression of rapt attention plastered to his face.

William never knew what to do with either of his parents. Unlike Mycroft and Sherrinford who had been raised by them to an extent, William had spent only half of his short life with either of them. They felt that Sherrinford, at twenty, was old enough and wise enough to tend to his little brothers. They wanted to see the world. So they left, and thought nothing of it. The result was simple: their youngest son viewed them as interlopers. William looked at them like he looked at the neighbor folk in town, with heavy suspicion and a deep lack of faith.  Even as damaged as his relationship with Sherrinford was, he trusted his oldest brother more than his parents. Sherrinford was the enemy he knew after all.

While their parents were obvious in their desire to see how William had grown, the young boy wanted nothing to do with them. He attached himself at Mycroft’s side, murmuring again and again that he wanted to go out and do research. Mycroft shook his head and muttered in turn that they couldn’t. Their parents were home, and that meant staying inside and catering to their whims. If they didn’t, it would be unwise. Sherrinford watched them at all times, and Mycroft was determined not to incite his ire. 

Their first meal together as a family of five was almost a breaking point for William. Their mother had decided to take the family out to dinner, and they settled into a table somewhere in town. It was a fancy restaurant, one that had wait staff aplenty. Each server came and presented food and drink like it was a ballet. All the crumbs were swept neatly off the table with silver lengths of metal that caught the light and glistened as they set to work.

William hadn’t so much as touched his water glass, let alone reach for a roll. There was a system to feeding William and preparing food out of sight was not involved. The conviction was admirable, even if the cause was unfortunate. Mycroft wondered if he could convince one of the wait staff to bring an unopened bag of crisps for the boy to snack on. It was perhaps the only way to convince William to eat. He shrugged off the idea as soon as it came to him, though. Their parents wouldn’t understand.

“Not hungry, sweetheart?” Their mother asked, nudging some of William’s curls from his face. He shook his head in response, keeping his eyes fixed on his lap. He looked like he was sulking. The truth was far worse. He hadn't eaten all day. There'd been no time.  Mycroft wondered how long it would take their parents to notice that William’s stomach had been growling for at least an hour. He was hungry, but he believed he'd be poisoned if he so much as attempted to eat the food placed before him. 

When the waitress came to take their order, Sherrinford ordered William's favorite meal for him. The child's hands tightened around the napkin in his lap, and Mycroft reached out to hold one. At the opportune moment, he leaned over and whispered in William’s ear: “I’ll help you finish it.” William’s tiny fingers latched onto his palm, and Mycroft held it for the rest of their meal.

The food arrived in a flourish and everyone immediately started to dig in. Mycroft took William’s plate immediately and started to cut everything into microscopic portions. It would be easier to sneak some off his plate the smaller the pieces were. Their mother cooed about what a wonderful brother he was, and he smiled at her in response. Meanwhile William’s hands continued strangling his napkin. His legs were vibrating with nervous tension under the table. Mycroft wished he'd been able to sneak him something earlier, but he'd missed his only opportunity. William was starving, but he wouldn't eat out. Even if he did, it wasn’t enough for a growing child and Mycroft wished there was something more he could do.

The moment Mycroft ran out of things to do to his plate, he was forced to give it to William to manage. The six year old looked like he’d been served his own death sentence and sat pale faced and frozen at the sight of all the food before him. It took longer than it should have done for their parents to notice, and it was their father who frowned at him and asked if he was feeling sick. 

“Stomach ache.” William mumbled, not quite lying since did hurt from hunger, but it was not the full truth.

“Poor boy. Do you need a doctor?”

 “No.” William shook his head and bit his lip.

“You should eat, brother mine. Wouldn’t want you to get sick.” Sherrinford offered, voice soft and kind. William went even paler, and Mycroft bit the inside of his cheek to keep from speaking.

“Already sick. Don’t wanna eat.” William mumbled, and like clockwork he slipped off his chair and into Mycroft’s lap. His older brother supported his weight with ease and held him close, refusing to question or comment the action in the least. Their parents were concerned, and shared a perturbed glance. The child they’d left behind months ago had eaten everything that was put before him, even while sick. This was an unwelcome sight and Mycroft felt a strange bit of pride in knowing that they were uncomfortable at last.

They deserved it.

Dinner was more somber after that. William eventually fell asleep, and Mycroft held onto him with stubborn resolve the whole way to the car. He’d only asked if they could get some snacks from a local store for dessert. They allowed it, and he snatched several of William’s favorites before returning to the vehicle and back to the house.

William woke up when they got back inside and their father dragged them both off to check on him. As their father ran through the standard battery of health tests, Mycroft moved to his room to change into his nightwear. It was there that he heard and listened to the sounds of his mother and older brother laughing in the kitchen. William soon became belligerent with their father and insisted on being left alone. He wanted to sleep, and Mycroft grimaced at the thought of his brother sleeping without any dinner. Finishing up in his room, he hurried back down the stairs to collect William's snacks.

“Oh, Mike- we just opened these for dessert, you’re just in time.” Sherrinford smiled up at him as soon as he entered the kitchen. In his hands were the packages of food that Mycroft had hoped to present to William.  Mycroft’s heart stuttered in his chest for a moment and he clenched his fists. “Come join us brother mine.” Sherrinford motioned for him, and Mycroft forced his feet forwards. 

He sat beside his brother, and he waited. There was nothing he could do. Their father wandered in fifteen minutes later. He told them all that William was sleeping. Their mother said it was for the best. Sherrinford agreed sleep would do him good. All Mycroft could think of, was that his six year old brother wasn't asleep. He was lying in bed wide awake with his stomach squeezing itself in starvation while his tears stained his pillow.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Mycroft carried William to the corner store the next day. The boy was lighter than ever and he slept on his shoulder in fits. His limbs hung akimbo at his sides and if Mycroft attempted to talk to him, he would didn't respond. It was frightening. Their parents hadn’t even noticed.

 

As soon as they entered the shop, he found a collection of foods that would improve his brother’s nutrition. He bought them without a second thought.  He took the packages with him, and stopped at the local park. There, he settled William down and gave him a container of chocolate milk to drink. He opened the packaged foods in front of his brother, and William dug in with vigorous passion.

 

“You can’t keep doing this.” Mycroft told him, concern evident. William was near ravenous, and he was eating too fast. He’d make himself sick just by the speed alone, and Mycroft steadied him through the attempted binge. Will looked up at him with a desolate expression and shook his head.

 

“There’s something wrong with him.” William told him. His voice was raw and almost broken. Mycroft insisted he drink some water, and he did without question. 

 

“I know…I know, but he likely won’t try to poison us with our parents here. And he can't contaminate anything prepared in a restaurant kitchen."

 

“Do you promise?” William asked him, hugging his package of crisps to his chest. His face was tragic and pale. He looked so weak that Mycroft grit his teeth.

 

“I can’t.” Mycroft told him. He refused to lie to William. Sherrinford did it enough for both of them.  “There are too many variables. I can't promise you that.”

 

“Was he like this? Before?” William’s voice cracked again, and he sipped more at the milk Mycroft had provided before returning to the water.

 

“Before you were born?” Mycroft clarified, struggling to think about what his older brother had been like then. It had been quite some time ago, and he'd been young himself.

 

Sherrinford had always seemed detached, somehow different and wrong compared to the rest of them. Their parents were around more often back then too. Seven years Mycroft’s senior, Sherrinford had been disinterested in him from the start. Their parents monitored them with watchful eyes. If Sherrinford had wanted to cause the same kind of damage now back then – he’d never had the opportunity. Whatever else he was, Sherrinford was not stupid. He would never do anything that would get him caught.

 

Sherrinford had the capacity to be kind, though. Mycroft remembered reading books and learning about the world with his brother. He’d enjoyed the memories and Sherrinford had seemed pleased with the interaction as well. His motives, Mycroft now analysed, were likely not innocent at all. Still, the encounters hadn’t been…terrifying. They hadn't been like they were now.

 

Mycroft couldn’t remember when they became that way. He only knew that one-day he realized his brother was not what he seemed to be and it had changed everything. There were several occasions that struck out in his mind. The death of their family dog was torn to pieces and left for the maid to find in the back yard. They were told an animal did it. Several “accidents” had led to various injuries over the years, each one seeming more wrong than the last. Sherrinford always looked concerned about him afterwards. It never felt real. 

 

He broke more than one of Mycroft’s treasured belongings, and hadn’t seemed to care one way or another about it. He lit fires during one month of experimentation and blamed it on Mycroft when their house almost burned down.  Somehow, Sherrinford had convinced their parents that Mycroft was the dangerous one. They believed him without question.

 

Then, when Sherrinford learned their mother was going to have a baby, Mycroft remembered how angry he became. He’d been afraid from then on and knew without a doubt that Sherrinford was dangerous.

 

“It wasn’t your fault.” Mycroft told his little brother. William was separate from everything Sherrinford is and was. He wasn't responsible for their brother’s insanity.

 

“He’s this way though now. What’s changed?”

 

“Lack of supervision for one. It seems…he rebels without it.”

 

“Is that what it’s called?” William didn't like the analysis and Mycroft wished there was something else he could say to make it better. He just urged him to eat more, knowing that William's new habit would be harder to hide the longer their parents stayed at home. Idly, he wondered when they would leave again. It wasn’t like they needed them here. The only benefit Mycroft could see was that their presence kept Sherrinford mildly in check. If William could start eating normally again it was certainly a positive.

 

Once William was full they wandered back towards the house. As soon as they entered their parents insisted that they chat. They wanted to know all about their lives, every moment that they had missed out on while they’d been out adventuring. Dutifully, both brothers gave their responses.

 

Sherrinford walked in not long after and kissed both parents on their cheeks. He ruffled William’s curls before calling over his shoulder he was off to see Elizabeth for a while. Mycroft watched him go, and he felt his heart start to pound heavily behind his ribs.

 

Everything felt stilted and uncomfortable. Their parents’ praise was something that came far too often and seemed far too out of place. They spoke about meaningless things and they lived such meaningless lives. Their mother at least had the intelligence to speak on their level, but their father was backwards in comparison.

 

For the most of William’s life, Mycroft thought he’d taken after their father: stupid and slow, incapable of managing anything at all. It astounded Mycroft when he realized that William could manage to do more than others his age. It hadn’t spoken well for the human race by and large.

 

Mycroft rubbed his fingers together as he watched his little brother and his parents together. Their father smiled at his children with that completely amazed and vapid expression he always wore. He was far too fond and proud of them. It was a shame that he was so ignorant to everything that William said or did. He wanted to connect with his boys in some way, and three times in a row he'd lost his opportunity. Still, his affection was obvious, and Mycroft never doubted the man's honest love for them.

 

Their mother was more tactile than their father. She tugged and pulled on William’s arms and legs, making him sit up against her body and allow her to run her hands through his curls. William shifted in his mother’s lap. His weight leaned from one leg to another and he was scowling in discomfort. When she tried to settle him, he frowned deeper and complained more. “Down. Put me down!” He insisted.

 

“Oh nonsense. You don’t mind when Mikey holds you.”

 

“I like Mike.” William told her, gaining purchase at long last and tugging free. His mother stared at him in shock, mouth fallen open and eyes wide. She looked so wounded by the insinuation that Mycroft almost felt bad for her. It was difficult to garner the emotion, though. They’d come and gone so often over the past few years that it was only natural that William didn’t have a kind word to say.

 

Still, the point had been made. Now they needed to fix it. “Apologize, Will.” Mycroft told him. His little brother shot him an annoyed look and crossed his arms.

 

“No. I don’t like them. I don’t want them here. Make them go.”

 

“Will, they’re our parents-”

 

“No. No. They’re not my parents. They’re your parents. I know what that word means and they’re not mine. They don’t raise me. They don’t! They just leave. Always. They leave us with Sherry and I hate him, and it’s all their fault. You said so.” Realizing the tantrum was only going to get worse, Mycroft made a half-hearted effort to remove William from the room.

 

Their father stopped him. While their mother sat on the couch, mortified, he navigated the span of their living room and crouched before his son. “What’s Sherry done to make you hate him so?” He asked, taking William’s hands in his. The boy was vibrating with nervous energy and he shook his head.

 

“Go away! Why can’t you just go away?” He tugged on his hands, and their father moved to pull William closer to his chest. He held him tight and ran one hand through his youngest child’s hair. William thrashed out with bold, violent, movements. His small fists wailed against his limbs over and over, and his back twisted this way and that.

 

The tears were inevitable. Mycroft knew his brother well enough to spot a meltdown coming, and he saw it now. William’s voice screeched out in a wordless proclamation of protest. He sobbed against his father’s body and fought him every step of the way. Their mother watched on, frozen in place with no idea what to do or how to manage.

 

Mycroft glanced towards the door, confirming that Sherrinford had left the house. This was one final opportunity, and perhaps the only chance he had to set things right. He turned his attention towards his underweight little brother. He took in the exhaustion the tantrum had caused. He memorized the image of William struggling in their father's arms. Tears had started to form in the boy's eyes. He was giving up, and he was only a baby. His efforts had been futile. He knew, just as Mycroft did, that nothing was going to change. Not if Sherrinford was still there.

 

The truth was sudden in its clarity. William had announced it all those months ago. Sherrinford scared him. Not knowing what Sherrinford might do, where his limits lay, was terrifying. Mycroft was afraid that one day it would be too much, and no one would be around. Sherrinford would craft the story around the truth. He’d say that his little brothers had gone out to play and must have gotten lost. He’d say that it was a tragedy that Mycroft and William ate that bad food. He'd lament how William fell out of a tree he shouldn't have climbed. He'll weep for Mycroft being attacked by an animal in the woods. He’d say all those things, and despite lying through his teeth:  everyone would believe him. They always did.

 

“Sherrinford poisoned us.” The words came out calm and steady. Both of their parents immediately looked to Mycroft in shock. Their mother started to protest, telling him that he was wrong, but Mycroft had made his decision. One chance. He had one chance to make this work, and if it didn’t, he’d have to leave. He’d take William with him. They could go someplace else, anyplace else. They had family in the city – they might take them. They could avoid Sherrinford. It’d be difficult, but they’d manage. They’d have to be careful, and Mycroft would have to write down everything he saw Sherrinford do. He’d have to make sure there was a file. That way, when Sherrinford finally killed them, at least there was something there to offer a defense. Mycroft kept talking. “Sherrinford poisoned us. Every time he makes us dinner, lunch, anything, there’s something in it that makes us sick.”

 

“He’s just not a good cook, dear. It wasn't intentional.” Their mother protested, shaking her head.

 

“No. You don’t understand. You’re not listening.” Mycroft hissed, shaking his head. “Look at Will. Look at him. He’s terrified of eating anything that’s not prepackaged. He’s convinced that he’s going to get sick otherwise.”

 

“He just likes the taste of sweets-”

 

“He wouldn’t eat that bag of crisps right there,” Mycroft pointed to the table with a fierce jab of his forefinger, “-if his life depended on it. He’s an idiot, but it’s not his fault he’s been traumatized.”

 

“Honey,”

 

“You left.” Mycroft shouted, shaking his head. “You left, and you didn’t even call when we were in the hospital!” Their father started at that and he gaped at them both.

 

“Hospital? When did you go to the hospital-”

 

“In May!” Mycroft told him, throwing his hands up in despair. “In May! We were there for three days! Will was severely dehydrated and couldn’t keep anything down for almost a week. He spent another week in bed. The minute we got home, Sherry started making food for him and every time he ate it he got sick again. Only he wouldn’t let us go to the hospital another time. He made us stay at home, and he was sick over and over and over, and it’s your fault!” Mycroft hadn’t meant to blame them. He hadn’t. But he could feel his spine tightening in his back and he could feel the rush of emotions he’d long held at bay surge for release. He wanted to cause pain. He wanted to hurt them like they’d been hurt. They’d never understand what it had been like while they were gone. They’d never understand the abject fear Sherrinford caused.

 

They were idiots. They were complete idiots. For all of her genius in math, their mother couldn’t see what was right in front of her face. She only saw the good in her children, which was blinding her entirely to the truth.

 

William was still crying against his father’s chest, and now the man was gripping him tight. His embrace wasn’t intended to keep him from escaping this time, now it was geared towards giving strength. Their father held his son like a man desperate for help. He was slower than every other person in the house, but he loved more deeply than all of them. His face was awash with tragedy, guilt was peeling away the wrinkled flesh of his cheeks. He was distraught. More than that, though: he believed them.

 

“Willie, tell me the truth. Tell me what’s made you so upset.” The man asked his youngest child, holding him even tighter and lamenting the bony frame that he was crushing against his breast.

 

“Don’t like that name.” The boy muttered in reply, and the man capitulated with ease.

 

“William, tell me what’s happened. Tell me the truth.”

 

“Mike’s scared of Sherry. He’s going to kill us one day and you don’t care. You always leave and you don’t care he’s the way he is.”

 

“That’s not true.” Mycroft blinked at his mother’s words. Her eyes were narrowed, her lips pressed firmly together. “That’s not true at all.” She pushed herself up off the couch and marched from the living room with purpose. They could hear her on the stairs, stomping through the house until she reached Sherrinford’s bedroom.

 

Mycroft glanced between William and their father, and then turned on his heel and chased after her. Their father had finally convinced William to curl into his body for comfort. He was holding him steady, cuddling the boy, giving him all the love and affection in his heart. It was an easy decision to leave them together, because even though their father was an idiot: William was too. He’d appreciate the sentiment where Mycroft couldn’t fathom it. William would give in and draw comfort from the man, and Mycroft needed to understand his mother’s intentions once and for all.

 

He chased her down and found her tearing through Sherrinford’s belongings. He stood in the doorway to his older brother’s room and hesitated. He’d long ago learned never to cross the threshold into Sherrinford’s room. It was a no man’s land that he was not allowed to step foot in. He’d never wanted to either. The idea of disturbing Sherrinford’s things and igniting his brother’s wrath was not intelligent. It was foolhardy.

 

Their mother clearly had no such compunctions. She threw Sherrinford’s clothes and books in every direction. She scrambled her fingers through his drawers. She upended anything that could hide evidence of the horrible things her child was blamed for. Mycroft felt his fingers twitching at his side. His heart rate increased on instinct; his head swam uncomfortably.

 

“He’ll be mad. He’s going to be mad. You can’t just do this. He’ll-”

 

“He’ll what, Mycroft?!” His mother asked, rounding on him. Her hair was standing on end, her breath was coming out in hollow gasps, her arms were shaking. “He’ll what? What will he do to you? What have I missed? What else have I not seen?”

 

“I-”

 

“Does he hit you?” Mycroft couldn’t answer in time. She threw herself at him and ripped his shirt up to inspect his chest and back. Nothing was there. “What else does he do? This…food thing…this was new, yes? Was this the first time? Has there been more? Tell me. What has he done?”

 

“You believe me.” Mycroft stared at her in shock. The words were yanked from him, but he wouldn’t draw them back for anything. His mother looked frenzied and half mad, but her faith in him was not altered. She did believe him. She did.

 

She whirled around once more, and marched back to Sherrinford’s belongings. Mycroft’s legs gave out and he sagged down onto the floor. He drew his knees to his chest and he gasped in shock. Another quick inhalation followed another, and another, and another. He was hyperventilating and he had no idea how to stop it, but his mother was focused on her task.

 

Eventually, she found exactly what she was looking for.

 

There were sketches: dozens of sketches of death and blood and destruction. These sketches weren't simple morbid curiosity that followed any young male. They couldn't be explained away that easily. The sketches contained the kind of obvious gluttony for killing that curled her stomach where she stood. She looked through the pages of Sherrinford’s work, and she saw the face of her baby boy. She saw William’s head with his skull bashed in. She saw him crying as hands reached forwards and strangled him. She saw hands pressing a pillow over the boy’s face in his bedroom, Mycroft lying limp in the bed beside them – already dead. She read his notes and observations on which household products caused vomiting and diarrhea. When that notebook ended, she found another, and another. Each one was filled with the same thing. Each one was more horrifying than the last.

 

“‘If mummy ever gets pregnant again, I’ll kill her.’” She read the words without emotion. She flipped to the next page. “‘But I’ll kill Willie first. I wonder what she’ll look like when she sees his body?’” The book fell from her fingers. She took a stumbling step backwards, as though to physically distance herself from the depth of her son’s hatred. She looked towards Mycroft and for the first time in his life, he saw his mother cry. She walked towards him with an awkward gait, and then she lowered herself to her knees. Her arms wrapped around him and she pulled him close.

 

“I didn’t know.” She told him. “I didn’t know.”

 

“How could you not know?” Mycroft asked her, struggling to regain control over his breathing.

 

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I’m sorry, my love. I’m so sorry. I’ll make it better. I’ll make this better.”

 

“How?”

 

“I don’t know. I don’t know but I will. I’m your mother. It’s my job to keep you safe. I failed. I failed, and it’s my fault. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll make it better. I will.”

 

He couldn't quite bring himself to believe her. But that night, when Sherrinford came home, the police were waiting for him. They explained the situation as it stood. He was going to a secure hospital where they’d go over his notebooks and see what they could do to help him change.

 

Mycroft doubted anything less than death was going to do anything at all to fix him. Sherrinford admitted to doing everything. He didn’t try to fight it. He didn’t complain. He looked his parents in the eye and asked them for help. He said he couldn’t get the thoughts from his head, and that he just needed a hand to get better. They told him that they understood, that they knew he was a good person, and they’d make sure he was given the best care.

 

He left the home willingly, giving both his parents a hug as he departed. Mycroft held William in his arms the whole while. Their brother stopped only once to look at them. “Thank you for ensuring I received the help I needed. I’ll never forget this.” William’s arms tightened around Mycroft’s neck. “Goodbye Mikey, Willie.”

 

Surrounded by police officers, Mycroft couldn’t help but feel more than a little brave. “Go to hell.” He hissed to his older brother. Sherrinford smiled serenely, and left without another word.

 

The door closed, and silence descended on the house. Mycroft didn’t know how to describe his emotions in that moment. But whatever he felt, he was certain that it didn’t feel like relief. 


	3. We Know Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With their older brother gone, there was no structure. There was no balance. Their parents didn't know how to punish them. They were unsure of how to proceed. They’d been gone for too long for it to matter. Sherlock was acting out simply because he could. He knew Mycroft wouldn’t protest too much, and he knew that their parents were more talk than action. What was the point in listening if nothing happened if he disobeyed?
> 
> ~*~   
> The Holmes parents try to be involved in their children's lives, but neither wants anything to do with them. They don't know how to proceed, or who knew best how to handle them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's eating habits can be considered an eating disorder. I don't see it this way, nor does Mycroft. However, if difficulties eating and trauma associated with it can be construed as a trigger - you've been warned. It doesn't take a great presence in this particular story, but it's a warning all the same.
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful Beta reader- Chanel!

**Chapter:**

 

The first in a long line of therapists insisted that William was traumatized. “He has deep seeded issues that he needs to get over. Bring him to me every other day to start with. We’ll see what we can do from there.” At one hundred pounds a pop the man was both expensive and useless. Mycroft thought he was an idiot, William thought he smelled like too much talcum powder and Epsom salt.

 

“What does that have to do with anything?” Mycroft had asked him as he tucked his brother into bed one night.

 

“I don’t know, but it’s annoying. I don’t like it.”

 

“Ignore it.”

 

“You ignore it. You only have to sit with him once a week.” William sulked, rolling over and burrowing his head under his pillow. Mycroft shrugged and flicked off the light.

 

“Not my fault you’re traumatized.” Mycroft quoted with a laugh. William’s pillow went flying straight at him, and it bounced off his back. He was still laughing about it even as he threw it in a return pass.

 

Their parents didn’t understand William. Mycroft doubted they ever would. They thought he was broken and would be for the rest of his life. To be fair, they were probably right.  But Mycroft also knew that William liked to be difficult. He capitulated if he had a reason to. While he fought like the devil on some matters, he got bored quickly. The key point was that if he found you trustworthy, he’d do anything you wanted. He didn't trust his parents, he didn't see a reason to capitulate, and frankly: he wasn't impressed. He continued to do what he always did, and he saw no reason to quit.

 

He played with Mycroft, he ate food his brother fixed for him, and he asked his brother countless questions. Mycroft didn’t mind, and he was already used to having his brother follow him around. To him, nothing changed.  If William wanted to rub it in their parents' faces, it was no skin off his nose.

 

Every other day, their parents dragged William kicking and screaming from his bedroom and into their car. They explained to him each time that it would make him better. William didn't care, didn't believe them, and didn't feel like listening at all.

 

The whole experience was pathetic. Especially because they decided that Mycroft needed to speak with someone too.

 

The room Mycroft sat in was so childish it bordered on the ridiculous. There were paintings of animals on the walls, games on the shelves, brightly colored chairs at bubble shaped desks. The therapist handed him a cuddly toy and asked him what he thought of it.

 

“I think it’s juvenile and pathetic. What on earth is a grown man like yourself doing surrounded by all these toys?” The doctor gave him a polite smile, and Mycroft could smell the talcum powder William complained about. He reeked with it.

 

“They’re not for me. Some children feel comforted by their presence.”

 

“I don’t, nor am I a child.”

 

“I can see that. I apologize for suggesting otherwise. Tell me, Mycroft, why are you here?”

 

“Because my parents think that I’m traumatized and that I need counseling to ease the pains of my past.” He replied. He glanced down at his fingernails and sighed.

 

“Are you?”

 

“No.”

 

“No?”

 

“No.” He met the therapist’s eyes without flinching. “If you want someone to fix, then fix my brother. If anyone needs help, it’s him, not me.”

 

“Which brother are you referring?” Mycroft scowled at the question.

 

“Both of them. William’s an idiot, and Sherrinford’s a psychopath.”

 

“That’s a specific diagnosis.”

 

“He did poison us, murder our family’s dog, try to burn down the house, and plot our deaths. It’s a justified accusation.”

 

“But why psychopathy and not something else?”

 

“You’re a doctor, figure it out. I don’t need to quote textbooks at you, you should already have them memorized.” The man smiled at him and asked him if he’d like to play a game. Mycroft glared at the clock and willed it to go faster.

 

Two weeks later, William still refused to eat anything his parents made for him.  They were terrified, and were desperate for the doctor to help. He recommended treatment. “I'd like to introduce him to different foods, and every time he eats some give him positive reinforcement.” Mycroft could already tell this was going to end in failure. He sighed and sat with William the night before treatment was going to begin.

 

“You’re an idiot.” He told him bluntly.

 

“Am not.”

 

“You are too. You’re not eating because you think it’ll get you sick. Well, Sherrinford’s gone, there’s no reason to think that. You’re wasting everyone’s time by playing this game.”

 

“Not a game, and you’re a jerk.”

 

“Hardly the most inspiring insult, brother-mine.” Mycroft told him, rolling his eyes. William didn’t respond, and he frowned. The younger boy was looking the other way, mouth pressed tight together and hands clenched at his sides. His shoulders were shaking somewhat, and for a moment Mycroft thought he’d somehow made the boy cry. It wasn’t anguish on the boy’s face, though. It was rage. He threw himself off his bed and marched towards the door. Opening it in a flourish, he slammed it behind him as he stomped into the hallway.

 

Mycroft listened to his brother walk to their parent’s room. There were quiet whispers inside, and then a faint sound of weight being added to the box spring. Mycroft frowned in confusion. He’d never had William just leave before, especially not to go sit with someone else, especially not their parents. It didn’t make any sense.

 

Reviewing their exchange, Mycroft flinched when he realized what he’d said. Brother-mine. Gritting his teeth he readied himself for bed. He didn’t sleep all night. Instead, he glared at the ceiling as Sherrinford’s voice haunted his consciousness.

 

The next morning, William was vibrating with anxiety. His shoulders shook as their parents brought him to his appointment. Mycroft sat with them in the waiting room, and watched William disappear into the doctor's office. Trepidation filled his heart, and he thrummed his fingers on the back of his armrest. His parents looked nervous as well, but they were also filled with hope. They were convinced this was the best course of action to take, and they wanted it to work.

 

It didn’t take long for the shouting to start. Mycroft’s muscles tensed as he heard William scream behind that door. His therapist’s voice never rose at all, but William was prepared for an all-out war. He was yelling at the top of his lungs, and when he didn't get what he wanted, he went to leave.

 

He banged on the door, slapping his palms against it over and over. Mycroft scowled as his parents looked between themselves. They knew that this type of treatment would take time and patience, and they’d been warned not to get involved. While they may have wanted to aid their child, they were wary about what the effects of interfering might be.

 

Mycroft wasn’t.

 

Glaring at them both, he moved passed them with ease. Throwing the door open, he caught William just before he made a complete break for it. For a moment he thought the boy would fight against him too, the pain from their talk the night before was still fresh in his mind. He didn’t. William looked up at him, recognized him immediately, and then scrambled up his body like he always did. Arms and legs went everywhere until Mycroft finally caught him and steadied him against his hip.

 

“We’re leaving.” Mycroft said without any preamble. The treatment was a joke, just like his degree. He didn't even look at his parents.

 

“Mikey-” His mother tried.

 

“We’re leaving now.” Mycroft said her without leaving any room for an argument. He’d walk home if he had to. He would. They didn’t argue with him, though. They just paid the doctor and left.

 

“We need to try. He can’t keep living like this.” Their mother told them. William was curled up in the back seat of the car. He’d burrowed under a jacket and was hiding from the world, hugging his arms across his body as he sat crooked in his seat. He was crying.

 

“Live like what, exactly? His food problem’s simple enough to manage.”

 

“What do you suggest?” Their father asked.

 

“Teach him how to cook, and let him do it. He’s an idiot, but even trained monkeys can follow directions.”

 

“Not an idiot.” William muttered from somewhere under the jacket.

 

“Says the monkey.” Mycroft replied easily.

 

“Jerk.”

 

“And we’ve come full circle.” Deigning not to respond, William just pressed himself against the car door even further.

 

“Oh Mikey, he’s too young. He’s only six-”

 

“Seven. He’ll be seven in less than a week. I’ll walk him to the market; we’ll get our own food. Give us an allowance and I’ll teach him to cook myself. He can manage a sandwich I’m sure. I’m sure he could even work out how to eat an apple if we tried really hard. So he doesn’t accept food from strangers, there are worse things your child can suffer from.”

 

Their parents still looked uncertain with the idea, but they agreed to let them try.

 

It didn’t take long to work.

 

The therapy continued.

 

Doctor number two came about just after William’s first few cooking lessons. He’d delighted with the prospect of managing his own nutrition, and he was good at it too. He even managed to cut the crusts off in perfect angles. Mycroft resisted the urge to scoff every time their mother cooed at William’s “prowess.” It wasn't exactly rocket science. "When are you leaving again?" He asked her. It'd be nice to have the house back, especially without their interference.

 

“Leaving?” She looked startled by the question. “We’re not going to leave again. We’re going to stay with you. We never should have left you alone to begin with!”

 

Doctor number two was informed about Mycroft’s question in short order. She wanted to know all about how Mycroft was handling the apparent neglect he’d received. He gaped at the woman for ages before crossing his arms and refusing to speak for the rest of their session.

 

Two weeks later, a new treatment was introduced. “Family Time?” Mycroft asked, repeating the words like they’d burn him just by speaking them. “You must be joking.”

 

“Of course not. We’re going to spend time together as a family.”

 

“We already do. You never give us a chance to be alone anymore. You’re there constantly.”

 

“Well now we’re going to have purpose. Don’t slouch Mikey, it’s rude.”

 

“Mycroft, my name is Mycroft, can’t you possibly remember it? Or were you on too much pethidine when they presented you with my birth-certificate?” Mycroft asked, making a tactical retreat and leaving his mother’s side before he felt compelled to argue with her anymore.

 

Family Time consisted of board games, card games, and crossword puzzles. While they played, their parents insisted on asking meaningless questions. How was your day? Did you do anything fun today? What's your favorite color? Do you want to do something tomorrow? What are you researching now?

 

William lost interest in the discussions the moment they started. “You’re here all the time, what more could you possibly want to know?” He asked them. Mycroft had never felt more proud of his brother than that moment and he beamed at the boy in response. Their parents weren't as amused.

 

“We’re going to be a family again.” She told them, and they did what she asked without too much complaining. Still, best to make a learning experience out of it all. It took Mycroft less than ten minutes to learn how to count cards and deal to his advantage every time. He taught the trick to his brother in three hours.

 

Standard card games against their parents were unimaginably dull. To make it better, they invented a new game to amuse themselves.  The trick was memorizing the deck and reasoning which cards the other took out. They shuffled the cards over and over again, passing the deck between their palms and forcing hands to be dealt for hours. It took two weeks to play through every possible permutation of the game. It fell by the wayside not long after.

 

Chess was fun for a time, but their father was incapable of surviving more than ten moves, their mother was stuck in a rut with her knights and always used the same strategy, and eventually Mycroft could see exactly what William would plan to do before he even moved a piece. William in turn managed to figure the same about him, and they both unanimously declared that chess was a useless game to play against each other. They always knew who was going to win before the game even began, and it was futile to keep trying.

 

“Games are boring.” William lamented when their mother insisted on another round of Mouse Trap.

 

“Come play with us, let’s see if you can win this time, hm?” Their mother tried.

 

“No. I’m going to do research. This is boring, and I’m tired of playing games.” He made to walk from the room, and Mycroft wondered if that was even an acceptable option. He watched the scenario play out with raised eyebrows, in no mood to intervene on anyone’s behalf.

 

“Will, you get back here this instant!”

 

“No!”

 

“Come back here now!”

 

“Or what?!” William shouted back, rounding on his mother. He pulled himself up to his full height, back straight and posture ready for a fight. Mycroft felt a slight tingle of nervous energy starting to build within him. He wanted to know that too. For months they’d all been dancing around this one issue. What happened if they fought back?

 

With Sherrinford it was easy to plan and work things out. Avoid him at all costs. Keep the noise level down. Don’t speak unless spoken to. Don’t go in his room – ever. Don’t make a mess. Don’t bother him. Do everything he says when he says it. If you did all that, if you made him happy, you avoided getting into trouble. If you didn’t, then there were always consequences.

 

With him gone, there was no structure. There was no balance. Their parents didn't know how to punish them. They were unsure of how to proceed. They’d been gone for too long for it to matter. William was acting out simply because he could. He knew Mycroft wouldn’t protest too much, and he knew that their parents were more talk than action. What was the point in listening if nothing happened if he disobeyed?

 

“You’re my son, and you will listen to me.”

 

“Well I don’t care if I’m your son. I don’t want to listen to you, and I’m not. I’m going to research.”

 

“You’re going to play this game, William, and you’re going to play it this instant.”

 

“I’m never playing that stupid game again. It’s boring, you’re boring, and I’m sick of playing it. I’m not playing it. You can’t make me.”

 

“I can make you!” Their mother shouted. Mycroft felt his muscles tense, ready to step between them should she even think about moving to touch him.

 

“What do you want to do instead, Will?” Their father asked, calm voice breaking through the tension with ease.

 

“I want to go research.” William snapped out, shoulders shaking as his nerves bounced around his bloodstream.

 

“What are you researching today?” Their father stood up and walked across the room to stand by his son with slow, placating, movements. “Will you show me?”

 

William didn’t answer right away. He gave his father a considering look, as though he could divine his father’s motivations just by observing him. Mycroft wondered if he could. Their father’s stance wasn’t relaxed, but he wasn’t tense with anger or even annoyance. He almost looked uncertain, as though he was afraid to be rejected. He was nervous, but hopeful. He wanted to be included in his son’s life, but didn’t know how.

 

“Let him, Will.” Mycroft told his brother softly, and immediately William’s shoulders relaxed.

 

“Suppose I could.” He mumbled, before leading the way to his bedroom to collect his latest book. Their father trailed after him, biting his lip and rubbing his arm in a nervous habit.

 

Alone with his mother, Mycroft squared his shoulders. “Mummy, I want to tell you something.” He said the words with enough presence to have her look at him and focus. He was glad of it. He wanted her full attention. This message was going to sink in, he'd be sure of it. “If you so much as lay a finger on Will, I’ll take him out of this house and you’ll never see either of us again.” She looked so startled; he almost regretted telling her his plan. Almost. But she deserved to have fair warning of their departure.

 

“Where would you go? What money would you have? You wouldn’t survive out there.”

 

“I’m smarter than either you or father, and I’ve a plan already in place. Will and I would leave and you’d never find us. I’d make sure of it. Don’t you ever touch him.”

 

“I would never do anything to harm my sons.”

 

“You already have. That’s what this is, mummy. This is guilt. This family time nonsense is just guilt. You think this is going to make it better, but it’s not. It’s just making things worse. Will and I are just fine by ourselves, we don’t need you there to muck things up. So leave us both alone, and be done with it. We don’t need you, we don’t want you, and there’s nothing you can do to make it better.” Mycroft left her alone after that.

 

Therapist two asked him if he was angry.

 

“Yes I am, and you can tell that to my mother if you want. She seems to want to hear it from someone else, since she can’t trust her own senses to work it out.” He hissed at her.  Therapy was going to be another thing he stopped going to from there on out.

 

Monkey-see-monkey-do. As soon as Mycroft abstained from attending his appointments, William demanded a ceasefire as well.

 

Neither parent knew how to make their sons do what they wanted.

 

Time marched on.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Sherrinford wrote home often. They tried to hide it. But Mycroft still saw the return address, the hospital's letterhead, his brother's handwriting. Mycroft knew it was foolish, but he was frightened of those letters. Each letter was an extension of Sherrinford, once more encroaching upon their house.

 

He refused to tell William about them. Their parents read each one in the privacy of their own room, and Mycroft made sure that there was never any evidence lying about the house. If he found one, he shredded it. William was none the wiser.

 

Most of the time, he found his brother in the kitchen. The seven year old spent most of his time there. He was determined to reclaim the kitchen as a space that was his and his alone, and Mycroft felt no desire to convince him otherwise.

 

He always asked William if he could enter the kitchen. He respected his wishes if he couldn't. He never threatened to take that sanctuary away. Usually, William wanted him there. Mycroft sat with his little brother and they researched and worked together. To Mycroft, William was getting better. He laughed louder, he played harder, and he smiled brighter. Mycroft would never break the serenity that William had started to find. He wouldn’t do it. Not if he had a choice not to.

 

That didn’t mean Mycroft never read the letters. He did. He read each one of them. He flicked through page after page of details regarding Sherrinford’s hospitalization.

 

Sherrinford’s voice was enthusiastic as he described the treatment he was receiving. He thanked them again and again. He wished them well. He showed his appreciation for their choice to send him away. He commended them on their actions.

 

“Give Mikey and Willie my love, always.” Sherrinford said at the end of each letter. The words were sickening. They were awful. Mycroft knew they’d work.

 

He watched for the signs, he memorized his parents' facial expressions. He kept track of their body language. They were nervous, worried, and uncertain. They didn’t know what to do, or if they were doing anything right. They were concerned. Their eyes trailed towards Sherrinford’s bedroom. They went out together sometimes for hours on end – just enough time to visit their oldest son and come back. They were still feeling guilty.

 

They could say all they wanted that they were sorry about Sherrinford, that things would change, that they’d always be there. Mycroft knew better. Sherrinford was their son, and they wouldn’t give up on him. Not entirely. Not when he was doing so well in therapy. Not when there was a chance he could come back to them. They knew him longer, after all. Mycroft didn’t have to guess to know they even loved him deeper. It was logical.

 

“Will, I want you to pack a bag.” Mycroft told his brother one night.

 

“Why?”

 

“Just in case.”

 

“In case of what?”

 

“In case we need to leave.”

 

“Why would we need to leave?”

 

“Will, for once in your life can you listen to me without arguing?” His little brother’s eyes filled with tears and he watched as loose teeth bit down on a scarred lip. Mycroft’s gaze became fixated on that scar. Even as Will turned to pack a bag wordlessly, Mycroft couldn’t help but stare. “I won’t let anything happen to you. You know that, right?”

 

“Course I do. You’re my brother.”

 

“Yes. Yes I am. Come here.” He did without question. Mycroft knelt before him and place one hand on each bony shoulder. “I want you to think of something. A code word, a phrase, anything at all. I want you to think of it, the more obscure the better. But not too outlandish. It has to be something you wouldn’t hear in daily conversation, but if you had to bring it up it wouldn’t sound out of place. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“This is important Will. If you ever hear me say this phrase, if I ever hear you say it, we’re going to leave.”

 

“Leave where?”

 

“Here. We’ll leave here and we’ll find something to do. We’ll get out. We’ll go someplace safe.”

 

“Why wouldn’t we be safe here?” William asked slowly. Some of the color was leaving his face, and his eyes were widening with fear. His eyes flicked nervously towards the door- towards Sherrinford's room. Mycroft felt his stomach twist, but he refused to back down. He needed to give William fair warning. He had to ensure that he did what he could to make this as easy of a transition as possible.

 

“Sherry might come back.” William pulled away, shaking his head in dismay. Mycroft pressed on. “There’s no way to know for sure, but he might. He might, and you know what he’s like. You know what he’ll get away with. If he comes back, we’ll have to be ready. Do you understand?” He nodded, small tongue poking out to lick his lips. “What’s your phrase?”

 

“'Careen.'” William breathed the word out on instinct, and Mycroft nodded.

 

 “'Careen'" it is then. Pack a bag. Hide it. I’ll do the same.”

 

Neither spoke for the rest of the night. By morning, there were two bags filled with clothes and equipment hiding under their beds. As part of their nightly ritual, they always checked to make sure the bags were still there. They always went over their escape route. Soon, they had a working idea of how they’d survive out of the house.

 

Mycroft sat with William and they looked at maps. They memorized everything. Roadways, waterways, tree lines, ridgelines, elevation. Everything. Mycroft took to quizzing his brother at random, and William surprised him. He committed all of England to memory by the end of the month. Scotland and Ireland fell in short order. France was next. Slowly, William was creating a mental map that rivaled that of a skilled traveler.

 

He never forgot.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Therapist two lasted only one month more. Their parents continued trying to play with their children, but neither child wanted to. William’s tantrums only became worse, and his belligerence grew with each passing day. He still minded Mycroft, but he also enjoyed his newfound freedom to do whatever he wanted without consequence. He ignored their orders, refused to follow commands, and challenged them whenever he could.

 

“It won’t be funny if they ever decided to do anything about it.” Mycroft cautioned him.

 

“You threatened them not to.” William returned, completely unconcerned with it all.

 

“That doesn’t mean much.” Mycroft replied, shrugging. “If they wanted to cause problems for us, they could.”

 

William didn’t listen to him, and one more screaming fit seemed to be as much as their mother could take. She yanked them out of therapy with the Family-Love-Doctor, and gave them to someone else.

 

No more toys lined the walls of this particular office. Instead, there were mature paintings and filled bookshelves. There were four newspapers on his desk, all turned to the same section. His eyes glanced at his clock every few minutes, and it wasn't to check the end of their appointment. He was waiting for something. What though? A glance towards the radio, the newspapers, ah. Obvious.

 

Mycroft sat in a chair far too big for him, let alone his little brother, and the doctor peered down his nose at him.

 

“Tell me about your brother.”

 

“He’s an idiot with too much time on his hands and likes to climb trees. Tell me about your gambling addiction.” The man hated him on instinct and Mycroft felt much the same way.

 

Mycroft listened to his parents discuss his diagnosis in hushed voices, and he scoffed at the way they glanced at him in concern. Oppositional Defiant Disorder. Apparently he and William had anger issues that were above and beyond the call of duty. It was almost laughable. Being raised by a psychopath wasn't an excuse to be angry. Odd.  Their doctor prescribed a retinue of reinforcement exercises to help them handle their aggression. He also suggested an outlet. Sports, perhaps, were a simple way to expel excess energy.

 

Interactions with other children might be good too.

 

Mycroft almost choked at the idea. “School? You want Will and me to go to school.”

 

“Yes, you’ve been so alone all these years. You’re both very smart, but perhaps we shouldn’t have left you to yourselves. Interaction with your peers would be good for you!” Their mother was far too pleased with the suggestion.

 

“You must be joking. Can you actually imagine us in school?”

 

“Oh I think you’d look delightful in uniforms. Don’t you darling?” Their mother asked their father with a brilliant smile.

 

“That’s not what I meant and you know it! School?”

 

“Yes, dear. You’ll start next week.”

 

“Next week?”

 

“Hard of hearing, Mycroft? She’s not exactly stuttering.” His little brother piped up, glowering at him from the corner of his eye.

 

“Don’t be smart, William, I’m the smart one.” He hissed back. His brother’s face fell somewhat, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. “I’m not going to school, you can’t make me.”

 

“Yes, we can.”

 

“How’s that exactly?” Mycroft snapped. He was determined to finish this. Under no circumstances was he going to step foot into one of those buildings. If William got away with arguing over everything, he would be damned if he didn’t have a go at it at least once.

 

“If the pair of you don’t go to the local school, then you’ll be attending a public school in the city. You won’t be returning home save on holiday.”

 

“Is that supposed to be a threat? Sending me away from you?"

 

“Public school for you, Mycroft, means you won’t see William at all. He’ll be staying here. He’s not old enough to attend.” For a moment, Mycroft wasn’t sure he heard her right. He was certain of it. He blinked rapidly, struggling to make sense of the vowels and consonants he thought he’d heard. They had to be wrong.

 

“You can’t do that!” William reacted first. He threw himself up to stand in front of their mother with clenched fists. His face was beat red and he was shaking with rage. “You can’t send him away! He didn’t do anything wrong! He didn’t!”

 

“It’s not about doing anything wrong. I’m giving you a choice. You can attend a less prestigious school here in town and stay with your brother, or you can go to a better school in the city without him. Those are your options.”

 

“We’ll leave!” William declared. “We’ll leave, we’ll leave and you’ll never find us again.”

 

“I’ve had enough of you two saying you’ll just leave every time you’re dissatisfied with the way things are. You are minors, you cannot just walk away. Your allowances are now rescinded, and you will have no access to any funds. If you leave, we will contact the police who will drag you right back here. Then, I will quite happily send the pair of you in completely opposite directions. Your obsession with one another is unhealthy enough as it is.”

 

“Obsession?” Mycroft hissed. “Obsession!? He’s my brother! You left us behind and I raised him. I’m not obsessed with him, I’m taking care of him. You’re the one who’s a complete and utter cow about it.”

 

“That is quite enough.”

 

“It’s not enough, it’s not enough at all. You’re wrong. You’re wrong about everything!”

 

“You’re a child Mycroft. The only thing I was wrong about was thinking that you could look after your brother, but you can’t. You're fourteen, and you are too young to look after him. That was a mistake I will regret for the rest of my life. I never should have left him in your care. Now, decide right here and now if it’s worth it to fight this. You will go to school in town next week, or I will send you to public school. If you try to leave, I will find you and make sure you never seen each other. Are we clear on this?”

 

Mycroft could feel his teeth popping as he ground them down. "We're clear." He hissed, before snatching William’s hand and pulling him from the room. His brother followed him with stumbling steps, struggling to keep up with his longer stride. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. Throwing open the door, Mycroft shot into the woods. Over trees and rocks and roots, he dragged William and cursed with each step.

 

“This is all your fault.” Mycroft murmured, squeezing William’s hand. The boy whined wordlessly, but Mycroft wasn’t in the mood to listen. “This is all your fault! Why couldn’t you just keep your mouth shut? Why couldn’t you just play those stupid games! If you just played those games she never would have done this!”

 

“It’s not my fault. It’s not!”

 

“Yes it is! You stupid, stupid, boy. We can’t leave now!” Mycroft threw William forwards, and immediately crowded him up against a tree. “She’s expecting us to leave now! She probably has the police on speed dial. You just couldn’t leave it alone! Why couldn’t you just leave it alone!?”

 

“It’s not my fault!”

 

“Then whose fault is it!? What do you want me to do, Will? What exactly do you want me to do here?” Fat tears were pressing out of William’s eyes and he shook his head rapidly. Little fists pressed against the sides of his head and he let out a high pitched whine that was his standard siren for an upcoming fit. Mycroft watched him, lips pressed together and body coiled tight. William fell to his knees and started screaming at the top of his lungs, shaking and crying hysterically. “You’re so stupid. Why do I even bother with you?”

 

Then, for the first time, Mycroft turned and left him there. William was still screaming and rocking on the ground, but Mycroft didn’t so much as glance over his shoulder at him. He just kept walking. He had no intentions on returning until the sun went down and his stomach started to hurt from hunger. He needed to think, and he had all day to do it.

 

Therapist number three was convinced he had anger issues. Mycroft was convinced he was right.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Mycroft returned home well after his parents had eaten. A brief glance in the kitchen told him all he needed to know as to whether his brother had made himself something. All the dishware was put away, and the counters looked spotless. William wasn’t messy per say, but he couldn’t reach everything the best. He tended to leave at least some evidence if he’d made himself something to eat. So he’d gone without.

 

Sighing, Mycroft prepared to go to his room, when a folded letter caught his eye. It was haphazardly hidden under a magazine by his father’s preferred chair. He approached it like a cat to a mouse, and his fingers snatched the letter up in an instant. He unfolded it, and ran his eyes over the lined page with ease.

 

Dear Mummy and Daddy,

 

I hope this letter finds you well. I wish I had come here sooner. The staff here are very understanding about the questions I’ve had in life, and I feel as though I’m finally getting my feet back on the ground. I won’t say that I’m completely better, because that would be a lie. There are times when I cannot help the bad thoughts from coming. However, I know that they’ve reduced. This care has been very helpful.

 

I’m sorry to hear that Mikey and Willie aren’t doing well. I wish there was some advice I can give you. I can only express my deepest apologies for having hurt them. I know you’ll likely never forgive me, but I want you to know that I never wanted to hurt them. I couldn’t control myself, and I’m working on it now. One day, I hope that we can become a family again. I miss you and the boys. I truly do.

 

Perhaps it would be a good idea to encourage them to interact with someone outside of the house? They’re not used to having you home with them so consistently. Some space away might do them good. I’m not suggesting you let them frolic about unsupervised, but perhaps something more structured? A community activity, a learning enterprise, perhaps even school might suit them well.

 

Homeschooling didn’t work well for me. Perhaps school will work better for them?

 

I love you all dearly, and I wish you the best. Until next time,

 

Give Mikey and Willie my love,

~Sherrinford Holmes.

 

Mycroft read the letter over and over, his thoughts skittering about his skull as he absorbed the words. The date placed the message at just over a week ago. From the fold lines, it had clearly been opened and reopened often. There were wrinkles around the edges, and different shaped hands picked it up and set it down more than once. Mycroft’s imprints joined them. He shoved the letter back under the magazines, and carefully walked from the room. He found his mother’s wallet in the hall. His hand reached in and he carefully withdrew all of the money in the billfold. He then took hold of the cards she possessed, and her checkbook. He did the same with his father’s money.

 

He walked to the one house phone, and reached towards the line. Ripping it out of the phone with a tight yank, he watched the lining shred and the connection fail. He twisted it with ease, ensuring that it wouldn't work or get fixed quickly.

 

Then, he pocketed his parents’ car keys, and listened to the sounds of the house. Their parents were watching TV in their room, and he could hear them talking to one another. William’s bedroom door was closed, and he wondered when his brother had come back. Carefully entering his room, his eyes immediately sought his brother.

 

William was at the headboard, hugging a pillow to his chest. His face was still damp from tears, and he still looked like pure misery. Mycroft closed the door with a soft click, and then approached his brother. He leaned in close and whispered one word into his ear. “Careen.” He pulled back and William was off like a shot. He yanked his night clothes off and replaced them with sturdier wear. Mycroft captured a heavier jacket from his closet and pulled it on. Both brothers took hold of their backpacks.

 

Mycroft pushed their bedroom window open, and he motioned for William to go out first. His brother was the better climber, and he scrambled outside and dropped to the ground below with little effort. Mycroft took his time leaving. He lowered himself to the ground with care filled precision. Once there, he took a deep breath and held his hand out for his brother.

 

“Come on, it’s a long walk.”

 

“Where are we going?” William asked him quietly.

 

“London.” He replied. “We’re going to London.” They left together, and they didn’t once look back.


	4. A Home In Belgravia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two months after Mycroft and his little brother run away from home, he finds a job cleaning house for a minor government official in Belgravia. It pays well, and they both are allowed to live there. Everything seems perfectly ordinary, until Mycroft realizes that there's nothing minor about the man he's employed to. In fact, he's quite brilliant, and cleaning floors is not what he had in mind when he brought the Holmes brothers into his house.  
> Series

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to my wonderful Beta Reader: Chanel!

**Chapter:**

Mycroft and William lasted two months before their funds ran out and they were struggling to make due. They’d lived well enough in London during that time, travelling from place to place and exploring the city. They avoided all notice by walking near adults who ignored them and looking as though they completely belonged. They never went to the same place twice, and they were always careful when they spoke with strangers on how much information they gave.

William held onto Mycroft tightly, nervous almost constantly, and yet curious about everything he saw around him. He looked at the city as though it were magic, and Mycroft knew that he enjoyed being there. He thrived under the constant onslaught of new information and explanations that Mycroft gave him, and had their wellbeing been more secured, Mycroft was certain he’d enjoy it just as much.

As it was, they were quickly running into a cash flow problem, and he wasn’t quite sure how much longer they could avoid the most obvious issue of their escape: money and lodging. Without a steady home for them to stay at, they’d been making do by dozing in libraries and showering in a local fitness club they got a membership at. Mycroft easily passed himself off as being sixteen, and explained to the managers that he was responsible for his brother while their parents were at work.

The ruse worked out well for the most part, but it wasn’t a permanent solution. He needed a job, and he needed to ensure that William was going to be safe while he was working that job. He was skeptical about finding a possible solution and was immediately suspicious of anyone William was left with. He didn’t like leaving his brother alone for any length of time, and William proved he was incapable of following directions on more than one occasion when Mycroft had gone to an interview and returned to find William missing.

William was never too hard to track down, granted, usually he’d just wandered to a nearby shop or park. It didn’t change Mycroft’s panicked hysteria whenever it happened. He knew the dangers that existed in the world, and the fact that his very young little brother was out there alone was not something that pleased him. It was almost enough to march William right back to their parents. School was one thing, but abduction was quite another. The experience was humbling, and Mycroft was not deluded about what could possibly come of all of this.

William seemed appropriately chastised each time and yet he kept doing it, no matter what Mycroft said to him. He kept walking off, eager to talk to the hundreds of Londoners that surrounded him. “Don’t you understand what I’m trying to tell you? They’ll wonder where your parents are, they’ll send you to the police and then you’ll be returned home. I’ll never see you again!” Mycroft shouted at him constantly.

“Why would they bother? I’m not doing anything wrong.”

“You’re not with our parents, that’s what’s wrong.”

“But you’re more my parent then they are.”

“That’s utterly beside the point.” Mycroft told him, not quite sure what to make of the blatant faith that William always instilled in him. He wished he knew what he’d done to cause such a reaction in his brother, but he couldn’t bring himself to be unhappy in the face of such emotion. He liked being the one that William always turned to. It felt vindicating. “Please, please just don’t run off. I’ll never see you again, and then there’d have been no point in us leaving home to begin with.”

“All right, Mike. I won’t run off.” William promised. Mycroft didn’t hold his breath for the next time he had an interview.

As luck would have it, however, he needn’t have worried. The next interview was the last, and he secured a position that suited all of his needs. He got a job as a cleaner for a minor government official of some sort at his home in Belgravia. The position came with room and board, and William was sequestered away with ease. Mycroft congratulated himself on his brilliant management of the system, he delighted in the fact that he’d proven their parents wrong: he could look after William and there was absolutely nothing they could say to the contrary. They’d succeeded in escaping and no one would find them here.

His employer was a man named Thomas Kent. He was tall with broad shoulders and was so busy he barely paid them any mind. He was rarely even home and was always travelling in some capacity. Mycroft entertained himself with guessing wherever the man went to next, and congratulating his ingenuity when he was right.

Kent struck Mycroft as a rather intelligent individual, despite his position. He took note of every change that happened in his house, and occasionally he’d consult with Mycroft on why he’d moved things here or there or how best to proceed with the dusting. His observational skills were astounding, and Mycroft was relatively surprised that the man noticed half of what Mycroft did considering he was never truly home often enough for it to matter. 

It seemed as though Kent saw everything, knew everything. It was vaguely intimidating, but since the man didn’t seem to care one way or another about whatever Mycroft did with his life, he wasn’t inclined to argue too much. William was allowed to roam about the house and do whatever he pleased, none of the staff thought twice about the boy being there. They all were too busy working on their own projects to care at all about him, and Mycroft let out a breath of relief that everything was going so well.

Sometimes Kent entertained guests, and Mycroft locked William in their room for the evening as he attended to them. He kept an eye on Kent the whole time, making sure that their employer was satisfied with the job he was doing. He knew full well that they would only be allowed to stay there as long as Kent continued to be pleased with them, and Mycroft was determined to keep that feeling alive. 

It was during these events that Mycroft discovered several things about his employer. The first was simple: Kent was a fierce man. He orchestrated his guests with the skill and proficiency that most people were afraid of. They respected him, but they also were wary of his decisions. Every so often Mycroft could hear the thinly laced threats that left Kent’s mouth. He wondered, vaguely, what the purpose of entertaining people that he clearly didn’t like in the first place was. It didn’t make much sense to Mycroft, but he knew better than to argue. 

The second was that Kent was likely anything but a minor government official. He was far too relaxed in his position, he guests were far too prominent in theirs, and the whole atmosphere seemed to revolve around them pleasing him and not the other way around. He was akin to a puppet-master, and Mycroft watched him do it. It was quite possibly the most extraordinary observation Mycroft had ever made. He was astounded to find that there were people out in the world that weren’t complete morons. He’d almost given up hope.

So it wasn’t much of a surprise when Kent revealed that he knew all along that Mycroft wasn’t really sixteen, and that he and his brother had run away from home. That he knew full well all there was to know about them. Some people, Mycroft realized, truly did know everything.

In his heart of hearts, he knew that he wanted to be just like that one day.

“You’re quite smart for a child.” Kent told him once, when Mycroft was busy sweeping his study. It was one of those rare moments when Kent was actually home. Sometimes if he’d been gone for weeks on end, Kent took a day to himself in his home office and worked there instead. It never seemed strange or bizarre until then.

“Thank you, sir.” Deference was the first thing Mycroft learned to portray. That, and ignorance. He wasn’t meant to know the things he knew and he did his best to hide it.

“Your parents must miss you terribly. You and that boy of yours.” Kent suggested plainly.

“My parents are dead; I look after William myself, sir.” Mycroft lied easily, ignorant of the fact that Kent already knew the truth.

“Your parents are alive and well and have been looking for you for months, Mycroft Holmes, do not presume to lie to me.” Kent’s voice sounded jovial, but there was an edge there that Mycroft was uncertain about. He looked up to his employer and he frowned.

“If you have no further need of me, sir, I’ll take my leave.”

“I didn’t say that, did I? Sit down, Mycroft. Let’s have a talk.” Kent waved his hands toward the chair that sat opposite his desk, and Mycroft did as he was told without question. He met Kent’s eyes without flinching. He already knew where the exits were, he’d calculated Kent’s likely speed based on his muscle mass and pre-recorded athleticism. He knew the route to take if he had to flee, and he knew that William was always prepared to leave at a moment’s notice. They had a system, and it worked. It was as simple as that. “You’re a smart boy.”

“So you’ve said, sir.”

“Tell me, what do you think about this country?”

“I don’t know what you mean, sir. 

“You can stop that right now.” Kent slammed his hand on his desk, and Mycroft jumped, startled by the sudden change. “You’re shamming me, Mycroft, and I don’t appreciate it. You couldn’t give a damn about being polite if it would save your soul. But your brother? You’d do quite a lot for him. Now. I want to speak to the boy who ran away from his parents, dragging his seven year old brother with him, and got a job just to avoid going to school.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I’m not an idiot like the rest of the people you meet. Because I observed it, and I deduced it, and I have resources that you couldn’t conceive of. Now, am I going to have a conversation with that boy, or shall I drag young Will in and have him join our chat as well?”

“What do you want?” Mycroft’s back stiffened and his eyes narrowed. No longer amused by Kent’s audacity, he prepared himself for a fight. His senses were giving him every bit of warning that could be expected, only it was happening nearly six months too late. He thought he’d been clever installing Will and himself inside Kent’s home, but for the first time he was beginning to doubt that decision.

“I want to have a talk. That’s it.”

“What kind of talk?”

“About the state of this country and what you think about it.”

“Why?”

“Because you see things that others don’t. I quite like that about you. 

“What else do you like?”

Kent paused for a moment, frowning low. His brows furrowed, and his face scrunched up like he’d sucked on a lemon. Then, comprehension dawned across his face and he let out the most exasperated noise Mycroft had ever heard. The man lifted a hand and waved off the question as though it was a vile thing stuck on his skin.

“I have no interests in you, or your brother for that matter, in any way other than intellectually. I have neither the time nor the inclination for any such attachments. You both are quite safe from that.”

“Then what do you want?”

“To know your opinion on the state of this country, though I’m fast losing interest. Are you always so dull in responding to inquiries?”

“This country doesn’t concern me. 

“Doesn’t it?”

“No.”

“Its laws and its legislation bind you utterly, you’ve seen for yourself how things can be taken out of context, how certain people can make decisions and the  consequences they may or may not have on the ones in power. You’re familiar with many aspects of this country. You are, of course, a citizen. Does none of this matter to you?”

“This country’s laws and legislation are created by people who can barely string a sentence together. They are more concerned with their public personas, and they lie blatantly to anyone who crosses their paths. The country is obsessed with glamour and delight. They highlight certain individuals, and they stalk them with cameras and tabloids simply to objectify them. The country is run less on law and practice and more on opinion and scandal. You’ll forgive me if I don’t think too highly about this country.” For a moment, Mycroft worried he might have said something to offend Kent. The man was looking at him with shrewd eyes and a pinched expression. His hands were clasped in front of his face, and he tapped his lips with his fingers for several seconds. 

Then, his mouth twisted into a strange grin and he leaned forwards. He was pleased, obviously, and Mycroft couldn’t fathom why that might be. “You’re a smart boy.” He repeated and he nodded to Mycroft with something that was bizarrely identifiable as respect. “You’re right, of course. This country operates much like every other country: through media and opinion, scandal and lies. It’s built on a foundation of secrecy. It has to be. There are some things that need to be done to divert the public’s eye away from the difficult decisions that are made each day. Sport, drama, all of it is supported to intentionally give the people something to complain about that isn’t important. They can argue and fight over football; at the end of the day they don’t notice we just executed a terrorist planning to bomb their local pub. Neat, quick, easy. Do you see how it works?" 

“Of course, the method is simple. Humans are so readily oblivious as it is. You play on it.”

“Yes. Exactly.” 

“Why are you talking to me about this?” 

“Because I’m an old man and I don’t have much respect for the future. You’re quite smart, and I’m lazy at heart. Why look for a replacement when one willingly walks through my door?”

“I’m sixteen-”

“Fourteen, we agreed not to lie to each other remember?”

“I’m fourteen. You want me to replace you? I don’t know anything about what you do, what you want me to do, or why it should matter.”

“You’re not going to do anything at all anytime soon. For now, you’re simply going to wash my floors and send your brother back to his parents.” Mycroft’s amusement at the conversation fled in an instant. He pressed his lips tightly together and his hands clenched in his chair. “That’s the reason right there.” Kent continued. “You care about him. You care more than you should. If someone came in here right now and told you to murder me or your brother would be killed you’d do it without thinking. He’s your pressure point.”

“What are you talking about?”

“William is the one thing in this world you’d die for. That’s lovely. I have family myself. I’d hate to see them die.”

“I’ve never seen them. There are no photos.”

“Exactly. There’s nothing at all that should make you hurt. Sentiment, Mycroft, is what’s going to destroy you. Your world is trapped around that child, and while it’s a noble effort – it will kill you. Self-preservation is the natural biological instinct. Embrace it for once in your life.”

“You just want me to send Will away? Then what?”

“Then, I want you to start using that brain of yours and realize what’s happening around you. There are changes coming, big ones. Not the least of which is the Prince’s birth.”

“What do I care about that?”

“Nothing, apparently. But it changes things. Monarchs always do.” Kent stretched his back, and then twisted his wrists. His spine and bones cracked in reply and he leaned forwards towards Mycroft. “You have the capacity to change this world and everyone in it. You can run this country, ensure that all the little people you don’t give a damn about continue to live their world in the glass bottle they’ve corked themselves up in. Your world doesn’t have to be that way. It can be exactly what you want it to be: flawless, executed with precision, and without compromise. You don’t save lives by cleaning floors and running away from home. You save them by holding power. As you are now, you’ll never have any of it. You’ll be funneled along and burn out at twenty – miserable because your brother hit puberty and decided he hates everyone around him and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“What are you suggesting then, that I just do what you say?”

“I’m suggesting that you listen carefully to what I’m saying. Your brother is your greatest weakness. He will get you killed one day, I’m certain of it. That doesn’t matter to you, though. What matters to you is that he might be in danger. Let me put it to you this way: no matter what you do in life, your brother will be in danger. But if you show how much you care for him, if you do everything in the world to protect him and let the world know you’re doing it: then you’re the one painting the target on his back.”

“Who’s going to target us? We’re nothing now. I’m a maid, for Christ’s sake. I haven’t done anything to warrant that kind of attention or brutality. What you’re offering is what’s going to validate such requirements. I have no need of any of that. I’m content doing what I am now.”

“Can you truly think of no one who will make that boy suffer to get back at you?” Kent raised his eyebrows at him, and Mycroft blanched. He wondered just how deep this man’s intelligence went, and he felt his insides twist at the thought. Kent rose from his chair and walked to a beverage table that had been set out prior. The man poured a stiff drink in two glasses, and passed one to Mycroft without so much as asking if he wanted anything.

They sat across from each other once more, but neither spoke. Kent merely rocked his liquor in his glass, watching it roll about the edges in smooth motions. Mycroft didn’t bother trying to drink his, he hated the flavor and the smell was atrocious, but holding something was easier than nothing at all. He was grateful to have it. 

“They’ll let him go, won’t they?” Mycroft asked quietly, giving voice to the fear he’d had since his older brother had been locked away nearly a year ago. Sherrinford had promised he wouldn’t forget, and he had kept in touch with their parents to ensure that his presence was never fully gone.

“Yes.” Kent nodded gravely. “Your older brother has a silver tongue. He’s likely to be released within the next few months.”

“You don’t believe him?”

“That he’s rehabilitated? Mycroft, I deal with psychopaths on a daily basis – there’s no such thing as rehabilitation. Only management.”

“So what happens now? He just gets released into society to do as he pleases?”

“We’ll keep an eye on things and, if needed, cause an accident.” Kent was unapologetic and unassuming. He believed, rightly, that Mycroft wouldn’t care about his callous nature. The only thing Mycroft seemed interested in was understanding exactly how Kent came to know so much. “Your mother was a fine mathematician. Did you know where her research got her?”

“On a watch list?” Mycroft asked, and Kent smiled.

“Employed. She ran algorithms for the Crown. She was very good at it, probability and logistics. Then she became pregnant with your brother. She asked to leave and we let her. It was as simple as that.”

 “You kept watch on our family.”

 “Of course we did. She’s brilliant, and while some may not value a mathematician, we certainly do. We ensured that your family wanted for nothing.”

 “She must have been quite the mathematician.”

“She was a friend.”

“She never mentioned you.”

“Nor would she have.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t exist. I never have, and quite frankly, I never will. I will die going down as a minor government official. Perhaps not even something as grandiose as that.”

“You don’t want the credit?”

“To take credit means that I’m playing plebian. I’m simply one of the masses showing a public face. If I take credit, then I exist to the world, and can be held accountable to their standards. Sometimes, it’s good to stay in the shadows.” He tipped his glass towards Mycroft in a salute, and Mycroft felt his lips twitch upwards in the ghost of a smile.

“Did you know? About what Sherrinford was doing? What he did to us?” 

Kent sighed heavily at that. He placed his glass on his desk and he leaned backwards in his chair. His eyes went towards the ceiling and for many moments he didn’t speak.

“We knew.” He admitted without preamble or excuse. “Your toxicology reports at the hospital revealed that you’d imbibed toxic materials. It was written off as a childish accident, but we have always been aware of your brother’s mindset.”

“You didn’t stop him.”

“It’s not our job to stop every event before it happens.”

“Then what is your job?”

“To preserve balance. You survived, and showed your mettle.”

“How did you know I’d come here for a job?”

“Because we know how to get people to do what we want. When you left home, it was simple enough to follow your tracks, to get you someplace safe. I admit that you lasted longer than we thought you would. You got even further than we planned. Bringing you here was just a matter of preservation. It gave me time to observe you, to know if you had what it takes to take the next step forward.”

“And I can’t do that with Will here?”

“You can.” Kent told him seriously. “You can keep Will here, and you can have him at your side. You could raise him as you’ve always done. You can bring him up and have him serve as your aide, or utilize him in any way you saw fit. He has the capacity to absorb great amounts of knowledge. He’ll be well molded into whatever you’d like.”

“Then why shouldn’t I?”

“Because, as I said – he will be used against you in a heartbeat. He will be taken from you, he will be beaten, and he may even be killed. You’ll drag him through hell simply for the few moments of companionship you may have. It won’t be worth it.” Kent’s smile was brittle even as he spoke, and Mycroft felt his fingers squeeze around his glass.

“You know from experience.”

“I do.”

“How old were you when you started this way?”

“Twelve.”

“Who went with you?”

“My mother. She’s dead now – long gone.” Kent shook his head. “Sentiment is the first thing you will give up. It doesn’t help. It never will. It only makes things more difficult in the end. You’ll wonder many things over the coming years. Why we chose you is simple. You have all the necessary skills required, and you have something that will make you strong in the face of adversity. You want to protect someone, and so you’ll do everything you can to do it.”

“You just told me to give up sentiment, to leave Will behind.”

“I’m telling you to leave Will behind so he isn’t used against you. Will lives in England. Protect England, keep its enemies at bay, defend the Crown, root out the traitors and the rot, and reach your hand into the filth. Do this and you protect Will at the exact same time. Only you will know why you’re truly doing this task, only you will know where this road leads and what you left behind. But the road is exactly that: a road that leads in two directions. You can’t erase the beginning in order to reach the end, it is one piece of a grand plan. That’s your choice. Bring Will with you and let him walk beside you, or leave him behind and know that you’ve kept him safe by denying yourself the one thing you’d like most: his companionship.” 

“He’s my brother, I’ve spent my whole life protecting him.”

“And you will continue to do so. You simply won’t be personally involved.” Mycroft rolled it over in his mind. He could see himself like Kent. He could see himself living in a home that was devoid of any personal affects. He could see himself making people dance simply by pulling the right strings.

But it felt too much like Sherrinford.

It felt too much like manipulation and lies that circled themselves over and over. It was the kind of game that Sherrinford used to play. Kent had been honest with him, almost brutally so, and Mycroft knew that the man didn’t do it often. It was almost a relief to be able to speak about his profession. Not once, though, did Kent encourage him one way or another. He was laying out options, and allowing him to decide.

“What happens if I say no?”

“Nothing. You’re welcome to stay here. Though I do warn you, should anything happen to you in an attempt to influence me in anyway, I will not hesitate to leave you to die someplace cold and unforgiving.” Mycroft bared his teeth a bit at that.

“I don’t need you to protect us. I can take care of us all on my own.” 

“Of course. This isn’t a pop quiz in any case. I offered you a job to work here, and while you’re tragic at cleaning floors, you’re welcome to keep it up as long as you want. I will not kick you out.”

 “Why would you let us stay here, if you don’t want me to work?”

“Because I owe your mother a debt. The least I can do is put her children in unimaginable danger in return.” His mouth twisted into a mockery of a smile, and he drained his glass with ease. Placing his glass on the table he stood up. “Drink it, it’ll put hair on your chest. Might even deepen your voice some.” He motioned towards the glass. Mycroft glanced at the fluid and licked his lips. Taking a deep breath, he knocked it back and swallowed it in one gulp. Kent laughed proudly and clapped him on the shoulder.

 He walked out of the study and left Mycroft there, and the teenager looked at the walls around him. The wood was of fine quality, the shelves were sturdy, and everything was made to last. There was a suit of armor in the corner, proudly standing guard over everything with proper posture. Mycroft wrinkled his nose at it. It was all very archaic and old.

 He wondered, faintly, what kind of world they lived in where the government recruited protégés at fourteen to fill spots in secret societies that ruled everything. It all sounded like something from one of William’s favorite books. “Ridiculous.” Mycroft murmured. Kent was being kind, letting them stay there, but Mycroft had no interest in following in his footsteps.

 He had no desire to deal with the world at large. It could run itself into the ground for all he cared. It wasn’t his problem, and it wasn’t his fight. He just had to look after William, that was it. With the knowledge that Sherrinford was going to be released soon, and that their parents would welcome him back with open arms: Mycroft was not willing to risk sending William home. Kent knew about Sherrinford, and he was letting them stay. For now, that was the most important thing. They had food, they had lodging, and they had a plan of attack. 

He’d talk to Kent about getting proper employment at some point, to ensure that he still had an income to look after his brother with. But government work? That wasn’t right at all. He had no interest in it, and he wasn’t going down that road.

He never would.


	5. Pirates and Pets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> William Sherlock Scott Holmes wants to be a pirate, but his older brother wants nothing to do with it. While Mycroft is at work, William is left alone to play by himself. One day, his brother's employer sees that he's lonely and buys him a pet.
> 
> Mycroft hates Red Beard with every fiber of his being. He thinks the dog's loud, obnoxious, and useless.
> 
> Everyone else just thinks he's jealous.
> 
> Except William, who doesn't quite understand why his brother won't talk to him anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to the lovely Chanel!

William was bored. Mycroft was always working. He interacted with the staff constantly and was always rushing about and seeing to the affairs of their home, and that left William to do nothing…for _hours_. He complained to Mycroft whenever his brother came about for Research Time, but Mycroft merely scoffed and tossed him another book to read.

 

The books were enjoyable at least. William read them cover-to-cover, and then reread them all for good measure. Mycroft refused to be impressed by his grasp on the material he was provided with. William wondered if there was anything he could do to make his brother proud of him.

 

Likely not, he was too busy worrying about his employer: Thomas Kent.

 

“He’s one of the best things that could have happened to us.” Mycroft had told him, batting his hands away when William reached towards him in hopes of getting him to stay just an extra few minutes. Mycroft was always doing that. He never wanted to cuddle anymore, and had begun to sigh whenever William tried to go to him for a hug. “Be kind to him, Will.” Mycroft told him then, before leaving to return to work.

 

William didn’t even really know what Mycroft was _doing_ half the time. He watched him sometimes. It always looked silly: pushing things around the floor and rubbing at furniture. It seemed like nonsense. But apparently that nonsense was what allowed them to stay there. Mycroft did the same thing every day, and they were able to live in Kent’s home. William wasn’t going to argue with Mycroft too much about that. He liked sleeping in a bed at least and the library as well. He loved spending time in the library, reading any number of Kent’s hundreds of books.

 

He was determined to read through every book in the library at some point. He settled in on the lowest shelf on the farthest left and began working his way about the library one row at a time. Still, library aside, William quickly found himself growing bored of the rest of the home. He wasn’t allowed to leave it, unless he was escorted by one of the adults, and that was bothersome.

 

When they lived in their parents’ house, he could run around outside all the time. Mycroft only complained about him climbing trees unsupervised. But now his brother said that it wasn’t safe to leave, and William was certain he was lying. It looked perfectly safe outside his window. There were thousands of people just on the other side of that glass, and if anything happened they were bound to notice. There weren’t even any good climbing trees he could fall out of.

 

He attempted to open the window once, only to find that it was sealed shut. “What’s the point of that?” He asked one of the other staff members. He knew Mycroft wouldn’t approve if he questioned him about it. The woman, Alice, frowned.

 

“It’s to keep people out, Will.”

 

“People don’t come in through _windows_.” William informed her. Clearly, she was an idiot.

 

“They don’t leave through windows either, do they?” She asked, raising an eyebrow at him. He scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. Clearly, Mycroft blabbed about how they ran away. He still thought she was an idiot. He wasn’t impressed, and he’d need to discuss it with Mycroft later. She smiled at him patiently. “Would you like to help Rudy in the kitchen?”

 

“Okay.” He told her, and she smiled at him as she took his hand.

 

Rudy was a rather rotund woman who commanded her domain with a sharp eye and a fierce glare. She ruled it all with an iron fist, and William had even commented on the strength of her hands. She peered down her nose at William whenever he entered the room, but she was obviously fond of him.

 

Alice deposited William into her care and Rudy immediately told him to wash his hands. He hurried forwards and pulled over a stool so he could wash his hands more effectively. He liked the lessons that Rudy freely gave. The woman insisted that anyone who was going to spend any reasonable amount of time in the kitchen was going to learn how to do it properly. So he did it properly.

 

William suspected Mycroft told the staff that he wouldn’t eat anything he didn’t make himself, because Rudy never attempted him to feed him anything she made. Instead, she _insisted_ William do it himself. So everything was done in pairs. Whatever she worked on, he finished. It was _glorious._

 

As she worked Rudy spoke highly of the good Mr. Kent, and when she wasn’t talking about food she was talking about how wonderful he was. William suspected she was infatuated with him. When he asked her about it, she blushed red and told him to stir his roux. He figured that meant she was.

 

Though Mycroft seemed more distant than usual, William discovered that his brother was secretly pleased by the fact that he was eating on a regular schedule again. William was able to make his own food at the same time as Rudy, and so when Mycroft was ready to eat William was ready to eat with him. They sat down together and chatted about different things that came to mind, and it was some of the few times that they had actually enjoyed their meals.

 

William was surprised to discover how much he missed eating with his brother. It was nice. They sat together at the main dining room table, and usually they were undisturbed. On the rare occasions when Kent was home for dinner he’d sit with them as well.

 

At first William wasn’t sure what to say to him, but Kent proved to be quite adept at orchestrating a conversation. He quizzed William on the different ingredients used in their meal, and how it was prepared. William had every recipe memorized and he was happy to oblige. He talked about it rapidly, quickly going over the most meaningless aspects of the cooking process. Sometimes he would catch Mycroft’s eye, and his brother would make a somewhat aborted motion for him to slow down. But Kent never seemed bothered. In fact, the perpetual state of exhaustion he was always in seemed to alleviate somewhat as they ate together. He listened to everything William said and nodded along. He asked questions here or there, but mostly he just let William twitter away on the countless different parts of a meaningless discussion.

 

“You don’t have to indulge him like that, you know.” Mycroft told Kent one evening, while William feigned sleep on the couch. Kent was reviewing some paperwork in front of the fire as Mycroft thumbed through the pages of a book.

 

“I ensure the deaths of countless people every night. Hearing about how my dinner was made isn’t an indulgence: it’s a luxury.” Mycroft didn’t reply right away, and William wondered what Kent‘s job really was. He tried to imagine it, and each idea was more fanciful than the last.

 

Over the next month, William imagined Kent as a pirate. He liked the idea of the somewhat elderly man riding the seas in his great ship. He acted like a captain, capable of commanding an army of scallywags[S1]  as they roared across the ocean.  He told Kent of his suspicions over dinner one evening, and Mycroft choked on an olive in response. Kent laughed uproariously at the idea and ruffled William’s curls with obvious affection.

 

William couldn’t help but stare up at the man in amazement. No one else did that. No one else smiled and laughed, and talked to him like he was capable of holding a conversation. No one else tussled his hair and planned to conspire with him. He wondered if this was what family was supposed to feel like. He smiled at Mycroft, and his brother’s lips returned the expression.

 

“I think you’d make a great pirate, Kent.” Mycroft said, overcoming his shock in the face of their benefactor’s amusement.

 

“Oh do you?” The man settled his silverware on the table and leaned backwards in his chair. He threaded his fingers together and the pleasant expression never left his face. “Captain Kent, hm? Doesn’t quite have the right ring to it, does it boys?”

 

“Captain Thomas?” Mycroft postulated.

 

“Did you know that Thomas Cavendish was the first man to intentionally circumnavigate the world?” William piped up. Mycroft blinked at the announcement, and Kent’s eyebrows rose.

 

“Did he now?”  The man asked, motioning for him to continue.

 

“He did! They called him the ‘Navigator’ and Queen Elizabeth the first knighted him when he got back to England. Are you knighted, Kent?”

 

“No, and I shouldn’t want to be.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because knights tend to let it get to their heads, and I’m quite arrogant enough without all that nonsense.” Kent told him with a grin. “Now, tell me more about this Navigator.” William did. He recited everything he knew about Thomas Cavendish. He spoke for hours, well after their plates had been cleared and they’d wandered into Kent’s study for their evening ritual of reading and relaxation. He spoke about Cavendish’s exploits until his eyes grew heavy and his voice went hoarse. Then, as he was struggled to stay awake and continue letting Kent know everything he knew, Mycroft gently lifted him up and carried him to bed. He was asleep before he could mount a suitable protest. It was the first time in a long while Mycroft held him like that. He’d missed it.

 

Kent wasn’t always there. He had many business trips that took him out of the country, and his home in Belgravia wasn’t his only stop. William missed him. He asked the staff about him, about when he’d come home, and where he was. They gave him vague responses, and William wished someone would just tell him the truth.

 

He stayed awake well into the night in the hope that Kent might come home and he could see him again. Mycroft was usually tired from the day and had started sleeping soundly before William nodded off. Not always, of course. There were times when Mycroft easily out lasted him. But there were days when William forced himself to stay awake, and Mycroft never stood a chance.

 

On those days, William occasionally _did_ find Kent coming home late. The man looked exhausted and defeated each time, and William hopped down the steps and met him at the door. “Welcome home.” He told the man each time, smiling shyly at him before offering him something to eat. Kent always looked startled that he was there, but it never lasted long.

 

“Sure, Will, why don’t you make me something?” Kent offered, and he slumped into a chair in the kitchen and watched as William dashed about to create him something special. He smiled patiently each time and indulged him well into the night. “Are you lonely, Will?” Kent asked him one evening as he speared a baby tomato with his fork.

 

“Lonely?”

 

“Yes. Your brother is busy now, not always at your beck and call. Do you miss him?”

 

“I wish he’d spend more time with me. He doesn’t talk to me as much anymore. And he doesn’t play. He says he’s too tired to play and that I should grow up.” William informed Kent dutifully. Kent nodded in understanding and settled his fork on his plate.

 

“Responsibility. Your brother’s attempting to teach you responsibility.”

 

“But I don’t have anything to be responsible _for_.” William pointed out with a frown.

 

“Would you like something to be responsible for?” Kent asked, arching a brow at him.

 

For several moments William wasn’t entirely sure what to say. He considered his options, and weighed the pros and cons evenly. “I want someone to play with, and someone who’ll be with me always. I want someone who doesn’t yell at me for running around the house, or get mad at me if I don’t take a bath. I want someone to eat with me when Mycroft’s busy and can’t, and to talk about pirates with – cause everyone else is tired of it.” Kent nodded, listening intently to William’s requests.

 

“It sounds like you want a friend.”

 

“I’ve never had a friend. Is that what friends do?”

 

“Yes, Will. That’s what friends do.” Kent told him quietly.

 

Five days later, everything changed.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Mycroft had been busy with the other staff members when Kent arrived with the Irish Setter puppy in his hands. He deposited the small creature into William’s arms and took a step back to watch the reaction. For a moment, William didn’t seem quite know what to do with the small creature. It squirmed uncomfortably in his grasp, back legs kicking slightly and head looking in all directions, but then William’s eyes widened with delight and he held the small dog to him in wonder.

 

“Mine?” He asked Kent carefully, hope dripping from his features. Kent smiled at him and nodded.

 

“Of course. You said you wanted a friend, and aside from kidnapping, this was the best I could come up with. Every boy should have a dog. Now this little one is your responsibility. I expect you to feed, train, and walk him every day. If he makes a mess – you clean it up. _Not_ your brother. Do you understand?”

 

“Oh…oh!” William’s knees gave out and he wrapped his legs underneath him to squat on the ground. He unwound his arms from around the puppy and the creature popped its front paws up on his chest in order to properly sniff his face. It licked his chin a few times and William’s mind went to a thousand places in one.  He was _perfect_.

 

“Will…do you understand?”

 

“Yes! Yes, Captain Thomas!” William said, excitedly. He looked back up at Kent with such a wide grin that his brother’s employer almost looked truly pleased for once. Instead of the half smiles and manipulative glances he usually portrayed, Kent actually appeared relaxed and content for the first time since they moved in. William liked seeing him like that.

 

“He’ll need a name.” Kent told him. William looked down at the dog for a long while. He’d never named anything in his life. He didn’t know what would best suit the small creature. He didn’t want to misname him. It had to be perfect. “You think on it, I have to see to your brother and the staff.”

 

William hardly seemed to notice that he had even left, preferring instead to watch the puppy as he wandered from William’s lap and bounded across the room. It was awkward and uncoordinated and William loved him entirely. He couldn’t wait for the puppy to meet Mycroft.

 

As it turned out, though, Mycroft didn’t come back upstairs for the rest of the night. He was still busy with whatever exercise he was doing with the rest of the employees. The puppy, still unnamed, had made several messes, and William had awkwardly attempted to clean them up with one of their spare bath towels. He had looked for one of the familiar staff members to explain what he was meant to do with him during those times, but no one was around. They were all in a meeting in the Library and when he tried to go in, the guards at the door refused to let him.

 

“Not now, little man.” They told him kindly.

 

“But I need to ask Mycroft a question.”

 

“Sorry, lad, he’s busy.”

 

“But it’s important. What do I do with the mess?” He held up the puppy as evidence, and the guards shared a look with each other.

 

“What mess?”

 

“Well, he didn’t ask for the loo and he made a mess. Captain Thomas told me I had to clean it up, and not Mycroft, but I don’t know how. How do I train him to use the loo?”

 

The guards attempted to hold back their amusement, which William thought was rather good of them, but neither succeeded very well. Instead, one pulled his radio out and called for assistance. A younger member of their team came in from outside and William was encouraged to ask him all he wanted about how to proceed. The young guard looked utterly put out by it all, glared at the two door guards, but then motioned for William to follow him.

 

“What’s your name?” William asked, hurrying after the man.

 

“Greg.” He replied with a sigh. “Now come along.” He opened the back door and moved to let the pair out. The outside garden had never been a place that William was allowed to be before, and he looked about the area with interest. “Your pup’s just a wee thing, so you’re going to have to be vigilant, ya? What you’re gonna do is stay around this area inside. When it starts to whine, you take it out here and let him do his business. Then you praise him for doing it outside. Get it?”

 

“He’s going outside?” William asked, scandalized at the thought. “Why doesn’t he use the loo?” To his credit, Greg didn’t even blink at the question.

 

“He’s too small now, and he’ll be too big later, see? He won’t have the dexterity for it.”  The answer was satisfying, and he thanked the guard for his time.

 

“Now, what about these messes, hm?”

 

William showed him how he’d dealt with the problem earlier, and the guard sighed and shook his head. “You’ll go through too much trouble like that. Here…” The whole process took no time at all, and William memorized where every product the guard produced came from. He even followed him down the washer to see how to clean the towels he’d dirtied earlier.

 

“Now, if you’ve any questions, you ask.” The guard told him sternly.

 

“Yes, sir.” He replied with a happy grin.

 

“Oh, and you know the rules about being outside, ya?”

 

“Rules?” William asked, shifting his hold on the puppy as it squirmed in his arms.

 

“Don’t let anyone in you don’t recognize, lock the door behind you _every time_ , and never leave the line of sight from the door at night. Understand?”

 

“Yes, sir.” Greg nodded and patted his shoulder.

 

“Enjoy your new pup, Will.”

 

“Thank you! Do you know any good names? Because I’ve never named anything, and Captain Thomas says I have to come up with one.” Greg frowned at that, and gave him a considering look.

 

“Why do you call Mr. Kent: ‘Captain Thomas?’”

 

“Because he’s a pirate and pirates need proper titles.” William explained slowly, wondering mildly if Greg even understood what pirates were.

 

“You like pirates?”

 

“Oh they’re fantastic. I’m going to be a pirate one day! I’m going to get a ship and sail the seas with my brother. We’ll loot all the passing vessels, and everyone will fear us!”

 

“I’m sure you’ll be properly fearsome, you will.” Greg told him, grinning.

 

“I will be. I’ll be the most fearsome pirate in the world.”

 

“So who’ll you be then? Captain William? You’ll need a better name than that. Something that’ll shake fear into the hearts of your enemies.”

 

“I’ll have a nickname! I just don’t know what it’ll be. Beside, don’t other people think up nicknames _for_ you?”

 

“Suppose your right. What’s your full name then? Got a middle one in there somewhere, or is it just William Holmes?”

 

“No, it’s William Sherlock Scott Holmes. Least, that’s what mummy told me once.”

 

“‘Sherlock?’ Now there’s a name fit for piracy if I’ve ever heard one. Sounds just like your brother’s name. All old and mysterious.”

 

“You think? I don’t know; I don’t quite like it. It’s a misnomer. See?” He tugged at his dark curls for a moment. “My hair’s brown.”

 

“So I see, but pirates get named things that are all wrong all the time as a form of distraction. Anyway, this boy here’s got red hair, wouldn’t you say?” Greg crouched and got a good look at the puppy. William set it on the ground to wander about the hall at their feet, and it was currently attacking William’s shoelaces. The boy didn’t seem to notice or care, and Greg wasn’t about to correct the pup in any case. It really was an adorable creature, with a cute little button nose and finely waved fur. His ears flopped daintily around his little face, and Greg could see the appeal to having the creature as a playmate. “That’s pretty fair wouldn’t you think? ‘Sherlock’ a good name for your pup?” William considered it for a moment, and then shook his head.

 

“No, you’re right about the distraction. It might come in handy one day and I wouldn’t want to waste an opportunity. Regardless- _Oh!”_ William’s eyes widened and his hands flapped excitedly in front of his chest. He bounced on his toes as his mind leaped across possibilities. His pup backed away and watched him with interest as William physically portrayed his delight. “Bluebeard!” He shouted with glee. Plopping onto the floor he crouched down to scoop up his puppy’s small front paws in his hands. “What do you think, hm? No? Something better…something just for you… _Red Beard_. My first and most fearsome mate. You’ll be the talk of the high seas!” The pup barked happily, and Greg laughed in response.

 

“Sounds like you’ve got a keeper there.”

 

“Yes. Yes I do. You’ll see Greg, you’ll see: Sherlock and Red Beard – that’s what we’ll be called.”

 

“Thought you didn’t like the misnomer? That’s an awful quick change of heart.”

 

“I have years to grow into it! I’m not a pirate yet. But Red Beard only goes by one name, and so he’ll have to start early.” William explained.

 

“Well if you ever do become a pirate, I suppose it’d be foolish not to join sides. I’ll have to come up for a name for myself too, if I’m to join your ship.”

 

“Would you? Would you join my ship? You’re the first who’s offered. Everyone else says it’s a foolish thought and that I’m being an idiot.”

 

“Who’s everyone else?”

 

“Mycroft.” William admitted shyly.

 

“Well that’s your brother’s job, to keep you out of trouble. But you’re a fearsome little tyke aren’t you? You’ll find trouble even if he tries to keep you out of it. I can see it in your eye.” He nudged William’s cheek affectionately. “Anyway, I’ll leave my title and new name for you to decide, ya? I’d best be going back to work. Don’t you forget the rules about the door, ya? I won’t be hearing of any wrong doings just yet. Until you start going by Sherlock, you follow the laws of the land.”

 

“Yes, sir.” William said with a smile. Then, with more sincerity he continued. “Thank you, Greg. For everything.”

 

“Not a problem, little pirate-in-training. Not a problem.”  He ruffled William’s curls, and then hurried back to his post.

 

“Come on Red Beard,” William said looking down to his First Mate, “let’s go on an adventure!”


	6. Pathos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft hates Red Beard, and he lets his jealousy get in the way of his and his brother's relationship.
> 
> They have their first real fight, and Mycroft realizes that he has a lot to learn about life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in posting, there were some life issues that once again arose. 
> 
> I've finished posting all chapters though, so that has to count for something? 
> 
> Beta reader: Chanel!

Mycroft _hated_ Red Beard.

 

He finished his training seminar with the staff to find the puppy curled up on William’s bed looking like it had been there for years. Velveteen with curly haired ears, it could have been considered cute. Except all Mycroft saw when he looked at it was trouble.

 

“Oh! Mycroft, isn’t he amazing? Captain Thomas gave him to me!” William was full of endless energy as he scooped up the puppy and presented it to Mycroft with a smile.

 

“Mr. Kent. Mr. _Kent_ gave you a dog?” Mycroft clarified. He couldn’t believe his eyes, nor his ears.

 

“Yes! He said that it was to help teach me responsibility. He’s my friend! His name is Red Beard.”

 

“ _Red Beard_?”

 

“Yes, isn’t it fitting? Greg helped me name him. Did you know my middle name is ‘Sherlock?’” Mycroft’s mouth opened at that, but he closed it immediately when William kept talking. “I thought about naming him that, but I decided to hold off until I become a pirate. Then I’ll go by Sherlock as my pseudonym.”

 

Mycroft felt a headache coming on. “Your pseudonym?”

 

“Yes! ‘Cause William’s my real name, so when I’m a pirate I need a pseudonym so I don’t get caught by the coppers.”

 

“There are no coppers on the ocean, Will. It’s the navy.”

 

“Them too!” William announced. “Sherlock’s a misnomer, see.” He pulled on one of his curls. “It’s dark.”

 

“It didn’t used to be.” Mycroft murmured absently, eyeing his curls for a moment in contemplation.

 

“Really?” William’s eyes widened in surprise. He hadn’t known that. Mycroft nodded.

 

“You were blonde when you were born. A rather bright shade too: almost platinum. You took after mummy.”

 

“Why’d it go dark?”

 

“Genetic mutation after birth. It happens. Your body produces pheomelanin in order to give you blonde hair. When you get older it can’t produce it as much, and so it switches to eumelanin for brown hair. You have dark hair now because you stopped producing pheomelanin. That’s all.”

 

“So it didn’t used to be a misnomer?”

 

“No, it used to be quite accurate.” Mycroft told him softly.

 

“Huh. Well that’s good then. Anyway, I decided to name him Red Beard, like Bluebeard, except you know – he’s _red_. It’s like my hair too anyway, right? Sherlock and Red Beard, pirates!”

 

“Yes. I can see that.”

 

He could also see the most obvious part about this whole problem: William adored his pet.

 

Mycroft was fairly certain he _loathed_ it.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The Irish Setter puppy was full of love and energy and William ran around the house with him from day one. He laughed and cooed with delight and the house was filled with the sounds of barking and play from dawn until dusk. William researched dogs and how to train them for hours each day, and Mycroft was mystified when he tried to turn William back to their standard lessons and William blatantly refused to listen.

 

William taught Red Beard how to sit, stay, roll over, bark on command, play dead, find toys, find people, find clothes, find _anything_ , sound the alarm, and bare teeth.

 

Red Beard taught William how to clean up messes, how to navigate through small areas, how to take charge, and how to stand on his own without his brother.

 

“You can’t just give him a dog!” Mycroft exclaimed as soon as he had a spare minute alone with Kent.

 

“It’s my house, and frankly I don’t mind.” Kent told him with a shrug. “It’s not like he’s paying for it. I’ve set aside instructions for the staff to collect food for Red Beard while they shop.”

 

“Red Beard, what a childish name.”

 

“It’s a pirate.” Kent explained needlessly. “Your brother likes pirates.”

 

“Don’t tell me what my brother likes. I know full well what he likes!” Mycroft snapped at him. The man arched an eyebrow at him. “He named it after himself too.”

 

“Ah, ‘Sherlock’ wasn’t it?”

 

“Like you don’t have it memorized.” Mycroft muttered petulantly.

 

“Of course. I know the whole story.” Kent told him with a laugh. “I’d think you’d be pleased?”

 

“No. I’m not pleased.”

 

“What a shame.” Kent returned to his paperwork, and Mycroft returned to his duties. He should have known better than to complain to Kent. The man bought the dog because he thought it would teach William a lesson. Perhaps it wasn’t only William that was being educated.

 

William was spoiled. Mycroft wasn’t sure when that happened, but he realized very quickly that William was the apple of everyone’s eye, and that they spoiled him rotten. They let him get away with murder, and Red Beard took after William like they were genetically linked. He had the same expression on his face, all the time.

 

If William was being a little devil, Red Beard looked wily. If William was shamming innocence, Red Beard looked like an angel. If William was being friendly, Red Beard was too. The dog was a canine carbon copy of William, and Mycroft couldn’t imagine hating something more. He wasn’t sure what that said about him, or his attitude towards his brother, but he couldn’t ignore the feelings as they grew within him.

 

“You’re jealous.” Kent told him simply.

 

“I’m not jealous.”

 

“Your brother used to pine for you when you were gone, used to mope about the house because you weren’t paying attention to him. Now he’s got a companion and he hardly notices it when you’re working. You’re jealous. You miss being the most important thing in his life.”

 

“Is this a lesson you’re trying to prove?” Mycroft hissed, clenching his fists and glaring at Kent hatefully.

 

“No lesson at all. Every boy should have a dog.” Kent paused and considered something for a moment. “Or a little brother.” He added on as an afterthought. Then, seeming satisfied, he returned to his paperwork with a smile that Mycroft knew was more amused than it had any right to be. He huffed loudly, and just to be contrary, Kent gave him a magnanimous smile. “Would you like a dog too?”

 

“No.” Mycroft hissed, and walked away with as much dignity as he possessed. Kent laughed uproariously behind him.

 

William let Red Beard do everything with him. He read books to the puppy, he slept in the same bed as the puppy, and he took the puppy shopping with him when he went out with Cook or Alice. He had attempted to teach Red Beard how to use the toilet, but Mycroft caught him at that and immediately set him to straights. “You complete idiot! He’s a dog, not a person. He does his business outside!”

 

“It’s raining outside, Red Beard doesn’t like the rain.” William complained, and Mycroft scowled at the pair of them. The Irish Setter was looking up at him with a pleading expression, as though to convey his sincere distaste for the weather outside.

 

“Red Beard is a dog and has no feelings one way or the other about the rain. _You_ just don’t want to go out in it.”

 

“Red Beard likes what I like, and doesn’t like what I don’t like. He doesn’t want to go out in the rain.” William said tightly.

 

“Give him here, Will.” Mycroft held out his hand for the puppy’s leash.

 

“No.”

 

“ _William._ Give him here.”

 

“No. I’m going to take him for a walk with Greg, since _you_ won’t let me finish his training. Don’t worry. I’ll take an umbrella.” He clicked his tongue for Red Beard’s attention, and then the pair marched off.

 

Mycroft was vaguely certain that he hated Greg too.

 

Somewhere down the line, the youngest member of Kent’s personal guard had been assigned to William as _his_ personal guard. Kent said it was a simple enough assignment, and he’d thought Mycroft would appreciate it. There was someone there keeping William safe whenever he needed to go out with Red Beard and ensure he was well taken care of.

 

Instead of throwing a fit about having someone else with him: William seemed to truly like Greg. He thought the man was a great deal of fun. Soon all he talked about was Greg, or Captain Thomas, or Red Beard, never anything worthwhile or interesting. “Come, it’s time for Research-”

 

“Oh that’s _boring_ Mycroft. I’m sick of reading about things. I want to see it all for myself.” William complained.

 

“Well you can’t, so there’s no point in fussing about that now.”

 

“I’m not fussing. I’m doing… _fieldwork_.”

 

“Where on earth did you hear that phrase from?”

 

“Greg. He says that he couldn’t imagine a desk job, that he likes fieldwork too much. You’d like a desk job, wouldn’t you? You seem the type. You never even climbed a tree with me.” William accused suspiciously.

 

“Climbing trees is dangerous.”

 

“You’re dangerous.” William retorted.

 

“That hardly even makes sense-”

 

“Red Beard and I are going to be writing a play soon. Would you like to join us?”

 

“A _play_? Why would you want to want to write a play?”

 

“Because I want to. Come on Red Beard, Mycroft’s being _boring_ again.” Mycroft wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to say about that. He wasn’t sure William even knew what he was saying either.

 

It hurt.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Mycroft distracted himself from William and Red Beard constantly. He avoided his brother whenever he had the chance, disliking even the sight of the dog at his brother’s side. He left William to Research in his own time, and he didn’t bother to try to arrange his schedule so that he could spend his free time with him.

 

Shamefully, he realized that he was pushing William away just as much as William had put placed a barrier between them. There were times, more often than not, that William _would_ seek him out and attempt to share with him all the things he’d done during the day. Mycroft simply couldn’t be bothered with any of it. He didn’t want to listen about the people that William was spending time with. He didn’t want to hear about the new tricks Red Beard knew. He just wanted William to…well…wait for him, be fascinated by him, and want to only spend his time with him.

 

Kent was right. He was jealous of William. He was jealous of the fact that his brother had people in his life when he didn’t. He was jealous that William _didn’t_ need him around at every moment of the day, and that other people were capable of making him smile and be at ease.

 

It wasn’t the dog’s fault, and it wasn’t even Kent’s fault. It was bound to happen at some point. William was always going to grow up and be his own person. It just felt like it was too soon, and that he hadn’t even had a say in it.

 

“Empty Nest Syndrome.” Kent told him seriously one night when Mycroft was busy polishing an ornament for the second time in an hour. William had quietly asked Mycroft if he wanted to see how the play was coming along, and Mycroft had snapped that he was busy. William hadn’t come back down to see him for the rest of the night, and Kent had seen the whole thing.

 

“What?” Mycroft asked, not bothering to look at the man.

 

“Empty Nest Syndrome. It’s when a parent realizes his young is going to leave and there’s no way to stop it. It either makes him force the young to stay at his side or kick the young out harder than is necessary in order to lessen the sting.”

 

“I’m not his parent.”

 

“Of course not.” Kent agreed good-naturedly. He returned his attention to his paperwork and flipped through it with general ease.

 

“What are you working on?” Mycroft asked. He wasn’t sure why he asked to begin with, but the thought of going back upstairs and seeing William with Red Beard and Greg was a bit too much. It didn’t feel right, and he wanted to put it off for as long as possible.

 

“Searching for terrorists. The usual.” Kent replied, making a note on a pad of paper with his left hand. Mycroft shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, unsure of how to proceed. “Come, you can help.” Kent offered.

 

So he did.

 

For the first time in his life: it felt _right_. At least his projects didn’t complain that he was too boring for them.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Kent didn’t let him do everything at first. In fact, there were severe limitations to the amount of information Mycroft was allowed access to. Kent watched him go through the data every step of the way, and none of that mattered because the patterns were delicious, the codes were intense, and the rest of the world faded away into a low hum of background noise that was meaningless in comparison to the work.

 

Mycroft lost hours of his time. He read through thousands of papers and articles and he found each loose trail and ran with it. He deciphered the information placed before him and reported it to Kent, and within days Kent would tell him the results.

 

“You just saved twenty people.”

 

“You just found a lost diplomat.”

 

“You just stopped a terrorist.”

 

“You just saved Britain twenty million pounds.”

 

The list went on.

 

The achievements were breathtaking. Mycroft found himself leaping in for more. He wanted to know everything. He wanted to reach his hand into the filth and find the pieces of the world that were worth saving and just _do_ it. It was power in its purest form. There was nothing less invigorating than this.

 

He could see the world stretched out before him, see the choices and the past of each person on the page and he could see where they would go. He could control them simply by knowing all there was to know about them. He could make them dance.

 

He was right: it was manipulation exactly like Sherrinford used to do, but it was so much more than that. It was so much better. It wasn’t dark and terrifying, it wasn’t because he could make people dance. It was because he could make them dance, and have them _shine_ while he did so. The world was at his fingertips, and nothing could hold him back.

 

Mycroft lost hours of the day. He lost days of the week. He fell into his work and he loved every moment of it. Kent brought him with him to his office and he met the men and women who made up Kent’s team. They barely batted an eye at him.He was introduced to a world filled of people who could actually manage to hold a conversation.

 

He was better than all of them, they were all still so much _less than_ , but none of that mattered because they were there as support and he could work with that. He could work with that, indeed. Mycroft threw himself into Kent’s work, and he wondered vaguely why he ever turned away from it to begin with.

 

He was saving lives. He was helping people. He was doing everything he should have done to begin with. It felt so right, so perfect, and so welcoming that he never wanted to do anything else.

 

For the first time in his life he didn’t have to worry about such trivial details. He didn’t need to _care_ if William got dressed, took a bath, made himself something to eat. He didn’t need to fuss over whether William brushed his teeth or his hair, made his bed, did his Research. He didn’t need to tell William to mind his manners, or any of the million other things he was constantly worried about.

 

He had the world at his fingertips, and William could be someone else’s responsibility. William was nearing eight years old, he didn’t _need_ Mycroft anymore. It was better this way.

 

Besides, he had his stupid dog to spend time with, what would he need Mycroft for?

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Mycroft was so busy with his new found interests that he only realized that he hadn’t truly spoken to William until nearly a month later. He was obviously aware of the boy. He saw him each night when he flopped onto his mattress to sleep. But he was too tired to talk to him, and far too focused on other matters to really take in whatever William had to say when they _did_ talk.

 

Red Beard had gotten bigger. He was now just erring on the side of too large to carry, but slept through the night now curled up in William’s arms. The dog always popped his head up to watch Mycroft whenever he walked in the room if William was asleep, and Mycroft was at least glad that the dog was doing its job in protecting his little brother.

 

William stayed up for him one night, though. He stayed up well into the night, and when Mycroft entered the room at half past three, William was curled up by the headboard with his arms around Red Beard’s body.  “What are you still doing up?” Mycroft asked him, tugging off his shirt and reaching for his nightwear.

 

“My play’s tomorrow.” William murmured wearily. “Will you be there?”

 

“I’m busy, Will. Probably won’t have the chance.” Mycroft told him honestly. He kept his back to his brother, determined to not see the disappointment on his brother’s face. He knew he was likely going to cave in if he saw it.

 

“Alice and Rudy said they’d come…and Greg too.” William moved behind him, and Mycroft could hear the boy slipping off his bed and reaching for something in his desk drawer. He pulled it out and Mycroft listened to the sound of his brother’s feet padding across the floor towards him. Red Beard hopped off the bed and joined him, tiny claws tick-tick-ticking across the ground as he moved.

 

“They don’t work as hard as I do, Will.” Mycroft told him softly.

 

“Will you read it? If you can’t see it?” William’s hand reached out and took hold of his arm. He turned and looked at the collection of paper that was held together by feeble string in William’s hand.

 

“If I have time to do so.” He agreed evenly. “Now go to bed.” William’s lips pressed together and tugged downwards in a dissatisfied frown.

 

“You never do anything with me anymore. Did I do something wrong?”

 

“Not a thing. Now go to bed, Will. You’re tired.”

 

“No I’m not!” William threw the playbook onto the ground and Red Beard barked as he looked between the two brothers in alarm.

 

“You’re such a child! Don’t you realize some people have more important things to do than listen to you whinge?”

 

“I’m not whinging!”

 

“Yes you are, you really are. Now go to bed.” Mycroft reached for his brother’s arm and gave him a sharp push towards the mattress, but William batted it off and shoved him in return.

 

“You never talk to me anymore. Why don’t you talk to me anymore? You’re supposed to be my parent-”

 

“I’m not your parent, I’m your brother! And half the time I don’t even want to be that!” William drew back as though he’d been slapped, but Mycroft couldn’t be bothered to apologize. “Don’t you realize what’s happening around you? Or are you so selfish and self-centered that you’ve no idea what goes on in the world?”

 

“I don’t-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“Your _play_ is completely meaningless. Talking to you is completely meaningless. There are more important things out there, and maybe you should grow up and realize what they are. I’ve done absolutely everything for you, just to keep you safe, and you keep on taking. Well I’ve found something I’m good at, that I enjoy doing, that actually means something, and I’m sick and tired of having to cater to your idiotic and childish pursuits. Just _shut up_ for once in your life and _leave me alone!_ ” Red Beard was barking loudly now, standing between them and yowling in displeasure. Mycroft looked down on it and had half a notion to just kick it out of the way.

 

William must have seen the thought cross his mind, because a moment later his little brother pulled back a fist and caught him right in the lip. Mycroft stumbled backwards and tripped over the clothes he’d just taken off. His feet tangled and he dropped to the ground with a yelp. Red Beard kept on barking and whining louder and louder, and William continued to hit him in anger. He was screaming about something, but Mycroft didn’t care what it was.

 

He shoved his arms forwards, snatched his brother by the shirt front and threw his hand out. The blow was fantastic. Perfectly executed and with just the right amount of strength. Had it been to anyone else, Mycroft might have even been proud of it.

 

As it was, William’s head snapped to the side and all the fight drained from his body in a sharp instant. Red Beard’s puppy teeth clasped tight around Mycroft’s forearm less than a second later and the door to their room was thrown open not a few moments after that. Greg yanked William away from Mycroft and ordered Red Beard off Mycroft’s arm with a sharp worded command.

 

“What the hell’s the matter with you two?” Greg shouted, looking between the pair of them with a furious glare.

 

“Nothing, Greg. A misunderstanding between bro- _us,_ is all _._ I’m going to bed. No need for you to have intervened.” William told the man frankly. He jerked his arm free and pulled Red Beard up into his arms. The puppy was just a touch too big for that, but didn’t complain too much even as his back feet hung down. William crawled under his blankets and tugged them over puppy and boy in one sharp movement.

 

Greg watched him go without a word, and soon tuned to glare down at Mycroft. “A word? _Sir?”_ He requested, not giving the teenager a chance to respond before he dragged him out of the room. He didn’t stop guiding Mycroft until they were in the nearest bathroom. Then he pushed Mycroft to sit on the closed toilet lid and ordered him to sit still. He left Mycroft alone for only a few minutes, walking back in with a first aid kit not too long after that. “I’ve never seen two brothers get along as well as you and William. You two _never_ fight.”

 

“This was our first.” Mycroft admitted, looking down at the bite marks on his arm. Red Beard barely caused any damage, but he had broken skin and the flesh was sore and puffy around the puncture wounds.

 

“You call him an ‘idiot’ almost every time you see him, did you realize that?”

 

“He is an idiot.”

 

“ _You’re_ an idiot, Mycroft Holmes.” Greg snapped, and the teenager jumped in shock. “You’re playing at being a powerhouse like Kent, but you’re still just a child. A pathetic child who squabbles with his brother.”

 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“Don’t I? You’re intelligent, sure, you see things and understand concepts I probably never will.” Greg conceded before thrusting one thumb over his shoulder towards his room. “But you’ll never be considered mature or brilliant if you let an eight year old rile you up so much that you strike him across the face.”

 

“He hit me first!” Mycroft defended.

 

“He’s _eight!”_

“Seven, for God’s sake, he’s only seven.”

 

“He turned eight last week. You weren’t home.”

 

“No he didn’t. His birthday is January-” Mycroft cut himself off. His hands shook at his sides as his mind screeched to a halt. “Sixth. Today’s the tenth. Today’s January tenth.”

 

“Yeah. You missed his birthday.”

 

“I…he-” Mycroft wasn’t sure he knew what he was trying to say or what he was supposed to do. He floundered for words and came up shy. He struggled to remember what happened four days ago. There had been a political kidnapping. He was helping Kent find the diplomat. He’d been so wrapped up he hadn’t even thought of the date. And before that there’d been a bomb threat in…and before that…and before that…Events had blurred together and he hadn’t even kept track of the date.

 

“He didn’t care. He knew you were busy. He didn’t say a word. He just said you’d get to it when you could. Stiff upper lip, ya? Well guess what, all that kid’s talked about for weeks is this play of his. That’s all he’s wanted from you. And you know, maybe it is immature and childish. But you have a choice to make, Mycroft. Are you going to be that kid’s brother and actually deal with the fact that he’s a _child_ who does childish things every so often, or are you not? Because from what I see of you, you don’t have the maturity or the constitution to handle the work Kent’s letting you do. And I’m going to tell him that.”

 

“You can’t! That’s not fair-”

 

“And you’re proving my point all over about how spectacularly immature you still are.”

 

Mycroft grit his teeth in anger and his fingers clenched tight. “I’m good at my job.”

 

“You will be one day. Right now you’re too young. It’s too much responsibility for you. It’s not your place.”

 

“It was just a stupid fight.”

 

“And kids having stupid fights shouldn’t be making decisions in life or death situations.” Greg told him. “Think on that the next time you let an eight year old piss you off.” He dropped Mycroft’s arm and left him to his thoughts.

 

Mycroft wished he could say he hated Greg then, but when it came down to it:

 

Mycroft was pretty sure he just hated himself.

 


	7. Politicians

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft tries to be something he's not, and in the end: he knows exactly what he wants in life. He just wishes that the path to get there was easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to Chanel for beta reading!

Kent didn’t allow Mycroft back on any cases until the bruises had long since faded from William’s skin. Mycroft didn’t even fight him on that. He stayed in the house, scrubbing the floors and dusting the lamps, not bothering to argue or fight against any directive that was deemed appropriate.

 

Red Beard watched Mycroft with deep suspicion, clearly not prepared to forgive him for striking his little brother. Mycroft didn’t blame him, since he hadn’t quite forgiven himself. He tried to talk to William about their fight on several occasions, but William refused to listen. He never made eye contact with him, never acknowledged his presence, and never gave him the time of day. If Mycroft walked into the room, he and Red Beard left it. He’d even tried to barter for a new room of his own from Kent. Kent hadn’t allowed it, telling William to work out his problems with Mycroft on his own. It was one of the few things Mycroft was grateful for during this whole fiasco.

 

He spent his spare time looking at the play that William had written, leafing through the pages over and over again. For all that Mycroft insisted that William wasn’t bright and didn’t pay attention to his surroundings, the play surprised him. It incorporated aspects of all the missions and assignments that he had been working on with Kent. Kidnappings, assassination plots, destruction and terror all took center stage as the fierce pirate, Sherlock, and his trusty first mate, Red Beard, saved the day.

 

William _had_ been paying attention. He’d been trying to make sense of the whispered tones and hushed voices that were echoed through the halls of their new home, from staff and residents alike. He’d likely been told to ignore it all time and again, and when he couldn’t ignore it anymore: he wrote it down and made a story out of it. He didn’t realize how accurate he’d been, how close to the truth he was in all aspects of his reasoning.

 

He was eight years old, and Mycroft realized quite suddenly just how much he’d allowed him to be exposed to. William wasn’t quite the moron that he’d cast him to be. In fact, he was something quite spectacular (if just a bit dramatic).

 

Mycroft hovered around his brother, uncertain and awkward. He watched William play with his dog and cook his meals, and he longed for the days when everything was so simple and he knew exactly what to say to make William laugh. He’d never had a problem making William smile before. He’d always known what to do and what to say.

 

At night, when his brother was curled up under his blankets, Mycroft watched him in misery. He had nothing to say, and truly couldn’t comprehend what would make any of this better. He longed to reach out and shake his brother awake, tell him that everything was going to be fine and that he was so very sorry.

 

He never did.

 

Kent still refused to let him continue working.

 

“If you’re too scared to talk to a child, and too immature to deal with one petty fight, then how can I trust you to handle more complex decisions?” Kent asked him.

 

Mycroft didn’t complain.

 

He wondered if the work was even worth it. Prior to Red Beard coming along he hadn’t thought so. He hadn’t wanted to put William in that kind of danger. Even the added bonus of keeping William safe from Sherrinford had been outweighed by the thought that Sherrinford wouldn’t be able to find them anyway if they never went home.

 

William could grow up far away from Sherrinford and there would be no outside interference from the world. He would be safe and whole, and want for nothing. That’s all Mycroft wanted for him. That’s all he ever wanted. With a heavy heart, he pushed all thoughts of government far from his mind. It wasn’t a life that was worth pursuing anymore. It wasn’t worth it. William was his priority, and that was that.

 

That night, he waited in his room for William to come in, and when he finally had William in a position to listen, he spoke and didn’t stop.

 

“It wasn’t just a job cleaning floors.” Mycroft said, even as William pulled his covers over his head and made every effort to show that he wasn’t listening. He wasn’t deaf, though, and Mycroft knew his brother would be forced to hear him so long as he kept speaking. “It started that way, but it wasn’t. Not for long. Kent works in the government, and I was interested. He showed me some of the things he did. I became distracted.” Mycroft took a deep breath and struggled to find an analogy that worked. “It was like…like being offered a chance to be a pirate. If he really was a Captain on the high seas, and he really did offer me the chance to go sailing – that’s what it was like. Do you understand?” William didn’t say anything, and Mycroft pressed forwards. “And after a while, I just stopped thinking about things that were on land…things like my little brother that I was supposed to be thinking about at all times. My priorities changed, and it was wrong and _Will_ – I’m so sorry. When I finally looked back to see what I’d missed, I didn’t think I’d see so much. I’m sorry Will. I shouldn’t have left you behind. I shouldn’t have hit you. I’m not much better than Sherrinford…am I?”

 

For a moment, Mycroft was certain that William wouldn’t respond, that he’d keep feigning sleep and their silence would continue forever. But against all odds, the blankets shifted. William popped his head up and looked at him with great big eyes and a trembling lip. “Did you like being a pirate?” William asked quietly, and Mycroft nodded.

 

“I did.” He took a few steps closer to his brother. Red Beard immediately began growling at William’s side, and he hesitated. William gave a sharp command for his dog to calm down, and the growling stopped immediately. Meeting William’s eyes, Mycroft took a deep breath. “I like being your brother more. Can we continue where we once were?”

 

Tears filled William’s eyes and he pushed himself up and out of bed. He threw himself into Mycroft’s arms and Mycroft wrapped him up in a great hug. William was practically in hysterics he was sobbing so hard, and Red Beard whined uncertainly at his side. “I’m sorry I hit you too.” William cried, shaking his brow against Mycroft’s chest. “It wasn’t right. I’m sorry.”

 

“I missed your birthday. I missed your play. I have a lot more to be sorry for.”

 

“But…you got to be a _pirate_.” William offered, looking up at him with an interested expression. “What was it like?”

 

“I wasn’t _really_ a pirate, Will.”

 

“I know, but you were like a pirate. So what was it like? What’d you do?”

 

“It was…well…it was a lot like your play actually.” Mycroft murmured, and he sat down and told William _everything_.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Mycroft started looking for another job. William had been fascinated by the stories he told him, and he’d longed to hear more, but Mycroft knew temptation when he saw it. He knew what lay down that path, and he wanted nothing to do with it. Not right now. Not like this. He didn’t tell William about it, though he was certain Kent knew.

 

There were hundreds of jobs out there; he just needed to look for one that met his criteria. Now that he and his little brother weren’t homeless he had more opportunity to look for options. It was only going to be a matter of time. He knew it.

 

He liked to think that he was being discrete. Whenever a newspaper came into the residence, he took it and read it from cover to cover. If he took a little more time to go over the job listings, then he doubted anyone would _really_ notice. He memorized all the important information and he took pride in the fact that he was capable of recalling each detail that passed before his eyes.

 

Things were made infinitely more complicated by the fact that William had a dog now. He knew there was no way that William would be separated from Red Beard, and as time passed he even started to find use in the creature. It was a faithful companion to William, always looking out for him and keeping a weathered eye on his constant shenanigans. While Red Beard was almost certainly a willing partner in all acts of folly William engaged in, he was also there to ensure William didn’t get into _too_ much trouble. On more than one occasion Red Beard sounded off the alarm and called attention to a particularly dangerous escapade about to go wrong. It made everyone’s jobs far easier.

 

Mycroft and Red Beard had come to an uneasy alliance in that both had agreed to not interfere with the other so long as William continued to be their priority. Red Beard barely tolerated Mycroft’s presence, going as far as to growl at him if he got too close. Still, without the dozens of eyes from the staff that ensured that William wasn’t getting himself into trouble, the only one who would be watching the young boy while he was at work would _be_ Red Beard. He’d never admit it, but Mycroft had a long talk with the Irish Setter while William was doing something with Rudy that _under no circumstances were dogs allowed to be a part of_. (Needless to say, William complained loudly about it and was subsequently over ruled).

 

“You need to look after him. Do you understand?” Mycroft asked Red Beard. The dog gave him an annoyed expression and Mycroft scowled in response. “I know I hit him, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not trying to look after him too. Besides, he hit me first.” Red Beard growled, and Mycroft held up his hands in a placating manner. “It’s not an excuse. I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have slapped him. But when we leave, no one will be around to make sure he stays safe. Do you understand that? It’ll just be you, and you don’t even have opposable thumbs!”

 

Scandalized by the accusation, Red Beard barked at him. “It’s no use complaining. The only thing you can do is call someone for help. What if no one’s around? What’ll you do then?” Red Beard’s head tilted to the left, then the right, as though considering his options. He stood up and walked towards the front door, and scrambled at the edge with his paws. When that didn’t work, he looked over his shoulder at Mycroft and whined. “You see? Useless.” Barking at him once more, Red Beard jumped up onto his hind legs and propped the door handle down with his front paws. They hooked over the handle and he stumbled backwards, dragging the door with him.

 

It opened up, and Mycroft’s mouth fell open as Red Beard squeezed past the legs of the doorman and barked twice on the porch. Passerbys on the street turned to look at the dog who returned his attention to Mycroft. His head tilted to the side in a clear _what do you think of me now,_ gesture that ended with Mycroft blinking at him in stunned amazement.

 

“You can stay.” He decided. “Now get inside before you’re locked out.” Red Beard gave him another look, unimpressed by Mycroft’s opinion as he nuzzled the doorman affectionately and trotted back into the foyer. “But you’ll look after him then?” Mycroft asked, just to be sure. Red Beard barked again and then hurried over towards the kitchen door where he curled in a ball and waited for his young master to come and collect him. “Good boy.” Mycroft told him softly.

 

He needed to ask Kent where he got Red Beard from, because clearly the dog portrayed higher than average intelligence that might need to be explored in the future. Until then, however, Mycroft was eager to return to his job search. At least he knew that Red Beard wasn’t a complete idiot. That was slightly better than having no one around to look after his brother, after all. It didn’t change the fact that there were countless homes in London that refused access simply by virtue of a pet being involved. He was still a complication, but at least he wasn’t as bad of a complication as he _could_ have been.

 

The search was taking far too long, though. Mycroft struggled to balance wages and lodging and when one seemed like a viable option the other always fell through. “You’re rubbish at cleaning floors, Mycroft.” Kent told him one evening after what seemed like an endless struggle. He’d been searching for nearly three months. “Try bookkeeping. You have the attention to detail for it.”

 

“Bookkeeping?” Mycroft repeated, the word tasted vile on his tongue. He hated the thought of it.

 

“Hmm…or better yet, take your A-Levels.”

 

“My what?” Kent snorted in a rather undignified manner.

 

“Your A-Levels. It’s the worlds standard of deciding if you actually know a damn thing. Mostly it’s useless, but since you’ve never gone to school and are all self-taught it’ll give you something to prove you know what you’re talking about. You could go to University, get a degree, and become one of the masses.” It sounded awful.

 

“I won’t get paid for going to school. How’ll I look after Will?”

 

“I already told you that you could stay here. I’m not kicking either of you out.” Kent told him wearily, waving his hand through the air like it meant something.

 

“You wanted me to be your apprentice before. I’m not now.”

 

“That’s your decision. You’re entitled to it. I’m still not kicking you out. If you leave, it’s your choice.”

 

“What about my parents?”

 

“What about them?”

 

“Do they know we’re here?” Kent hesitated for a moment before responding.

 

“I called them a week after you moved in.” He admitted, moving to sit down at his desk. He steepled his fingers under his chin and regarded Mycroft with a calculating eye. “I send them regular reports, informing them of how you’re doing and what you’ve been working on. They know everything.”

 

“Why would you _do_ that?” Mycroft hissed, anger coursing through him. His hands clenched at his sides and he imagined walking to William and whispering _careen_ in his ear, rushing from the door and never coming back. He felt betrayed. It was an awful feeling that made no sense. He owned no loyalty to Kent, and he owed no loyalty in return. There was no _reason_ for him not to have told their parents. It had never been a stipulation in their agreement, and Mycroft felt like a fool for not realizing it sooner.

 

“Because they’re your parents, Mycroft Holmes. They were frantic and sick with worry for you. I told you before: your mother was a friend.” Kent snapped in turn, dropping his hands into his lap.

 

“Why haven’t they come up then, if they knew?”

 

“Because I asked them not to. I told them why you left, and we’ve spoken quite frequently about you and your brother’s futures. They’ve been active partners in everything that’s happened in this house, and they agreed that after everything that happened while you were younger, perhaps their home wasn’t the best place for you. Since you both were comfortable here, and were safe here, they were willing to try this option instead. See? You have shelter. You have guidance. You have a growing brother who isn’t frightened of shadows. You were allowed freedom from your parents, and you were allowed to grow in every way you wanted. I fail to see how the knowledge that your parents allowed this impacts you in any way.”

 

“It’s…it’s because…it’s-” Mycroft fumbled for words, struggling to work out exactly what he wanted and how to put it into context.

 

“It’s because your one act of rebellion wasn’t so much a rebellion as a carefully navigated course set aside for you. Manipulation once again. You’re not fond of the feeling, and yet you excel at doing it to others.”

 

“That’s not fair.” Mycroft said, shaking his head in an effort to refute his words.

 

“Isn’t it?” Kent leaned forwards and looked at him shrewdly.

 

“No.”

 

“You have a gift, Mycroft. You’re exceptionally talented. You have a lot to be proud of. What you shouldn’t fear is using that gift.”

 

Mycroft shook his head again and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. It was wrong. Everything about this was wrong. His heart pounded frantically in his head and he wished he could tear the sound of blood pumping straight from the fabrics of reality. He never wanted to hear it again. White noise shuttered through his ears and he could feel panic rising up from within him.

 

All the while Kent sat watching and waiting, unperturbed by his reaction and making no move to interfere or halt the terror that had started to shape itself in his heart. Mycroft wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or mortified, but the numbness that grew and clawed at his limbs only intensified. He _hated_ more than he ever had in his life, but the feeling was blocked and walled off, for he didn’t know what he truly felt hatred _towards._ He wasn’t sure what it was that he was trying to fight against, and the more he stood there in shock the more he realized that he likely had never come to terms with anything.

 

A tidal wave of emotion coursed through him and he wished he knew what he was meant to say in the face of such atrocities. He felt off balance and uncertain, and he longed to know where William was at that _exact_ moment because he needed to focus on something. William was always a fixed point in his life, he had to protect him and keep him safe and everything else could be shoved into the background so long as William was alive and well.

 

Except he didn’t know where William was at every minute of the day anymore. In fact, there had been whole days where he hadn’t even thought of his brother. They’d grown apart and he’d hated it, and they’d fought and everything fell to pieces. He’d lost his focal point, his compass no longer pointed north.

 

He didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life. He didn’t know what he was meant to do with the genius he’d been gifted with. All he knew was that every time he tried to create something good and pure – it turned out that he was still marching to the beat of someone else’s drum. He was a pawn in a game he’d thought he’d ruled already, and he lost his footing in the midst of this battlefield.

 

“Sherrinford did.” The words were yanked from his mouth, and he refused to look up to see what Kent’s reaction to it was. He kept talking, mouth on autopilot. Even though he attempted to stop, the brain no longer was working in conjunction to his voice. Everything was spewing out of him and he could feel tears starting to well up in his eyes. Always the echoing condemnation of his failure prodded him forwards: _you’re too immature to deal with kidnappings and assassinations if you’re going to panic over something like this._ “Sherrinford manipulated people all the time. He lied and he cheated and he stole. He threatened and he killed. No one ever stopped him, and no one ever will. They’ll release him into the world and he’ll do it all over again, and we’ll never be free of him because he’ll always be _there_.”

 

Kent’s chair slid back from behind the desk. His feet moved towards the side table and his decanter clinked as he served himself a drink. Then, he walked towards Mycroft, ripped his hands from his eyes and shoved the drink into his trembling grasp. He guided Mycroft towards the couch and pushed him onto it with a gentle but firm motion.

 

“Listen to me.” Kent told him, voice so stern it could have broken through anything. He was like water, firm and persistent –willing to wait as long as it took until all defenses were eroded away and only through his tenacity did he succeed. Mycroft listened. “The night your brother was taken from your home, there were police who escorted him away. You were there; you watched the whole thing. You saw, but you didn’t observe. Your mother used to work for us. When she realized what her son had become, she didn’t call the _police_ ; she called _us_. I told you that it wasn’t our responsibility to get involved in every little matter: that’s the truth. I told you that he would eventually be released: that’s also the truth. You know that he’s currently in an institution and that he’s writing letters to your family as part of his therapy. All of that is true. What you haven’t been told, or what you haven’t yet realized for yourself, is that Sherrinford is firmly on our watch-list. He is monitored twenty-four seven by _our_ people. If he breathes one breath out of line he will be eliminated.”

 

Mycroft’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Everything around him faded into nothingness until there was only Kent sitting in front of him. There was only Kent who looked at him with firm reasoning and steadfast determination. There was only Kent who made sense, and could fix the terror in his heart.

 

“Psychopaths cannot be cured. They will be psychopaths until the end of their days. However, they can be managed. They can be adjusted and changed so that they put their proclivities to good use. There are people in this world who have seen what psychopaths can do and who know what they need…how to make them dance. I’m one of them. You are as well.”

 

“I never made Sherry dance. I ran from him. I ran _away_. I took Will out of his home and dragged him to London just because of the _idea_ of Sherry coming back. Mere words from him on a harmless piece of paper, influencing our parents, were enough to make me drag a _baby_ away from his home! William could have been killed. He could have been injured. He-he- _I_ did that just to keep him away from him!”

 

“You took your brother and you removed him from a hostile environment because the risks outweighed the gain.” Kent retorted calmly. “When you lived with Sherrinford you managed the situation perfectly fine all on your own. It was only when William became incapable of handling the situation that you stepped in. Correct?”

 

“What- _no_ , I don’t know-”

 

“Seven years, Mycroft. You had seven years before William came around, and you were never touched, bothered, nor harmed in that time.”

 

“It’s not his fault. It’s not his fault!”

 

“I didn’t say it was.” Kent said; voice as collected as it had ever been. It didn’t rise once. It stayed perfectly level. Not one inflection.  “William doesn’t know how to handle psychopaths. He doesn’t have that natural inclination, or he never needed to learn how to work with them. You were always there protecting him, guiding him, keeping him from harm. He grew to respect you, and to have no understanding whatsoever on the darker aspects of life.”

 

“So it’s _my_ fault?”

 

“No. It’s not.” Kent replied, ignoring the hysteria that was still growing in Mycroft’s words. “The night that Sherrinford poisoned you, what happened?”

 

“I-” Everything came to a screeching halt. Mycroft remembered. The present day froze like a perfect tableau, and in his mind he could see each word and action take form and shape. He could see William on the counter reading books that weren’t his. He could see William antagonizing Sherrinford as he spoke off the cuff. He could see Sherrinford growing progressively agitated until – bedtime. William vomiting and sobbing as they went to the hospital. Then afterwards…every little instance where William had pushed that extra little bit and was immediately burned for it. It all became so clear.

 

“You made a choice to tell your parents about Sherrinford. You did it because you couldn’t manage the problem any longer. You couldn’t ensure the safety of your little brother in the face of your older brother’s psychopathy. It was _not_ your fault, and you did _not_ fail in your responsibility. William was the stressor, William should never have been expected to change or leave, Sherrinford had to go. When you realized Sherrinford was still actively working to cause your brother harm, and that there was a possibility for him to come, you left. You didn’t run away. It was-”

 

“A tactical retreat.” Mycroft muttered the familiar phrase under his breath and Kent nodded curtly.

 

“You know how to manage psychopaths, Mycroft. Do not sell yourself short.” Mycroft took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. He ran a hand through his hair.

 

“What do you do with them? People like Sherry?”

 

“We give them something to kill, and they do it for us. We allow them out in the world and we give them the opportunity to commit violence and manipulation in a way that assists the greater good.”

 

“Spies and assassins.” Mycroft murmured. Kent smiled humorlessly.

 

“Obviously not all of them, but yes. There are quite a few spies and assassins in our employ that fall into that purview.”

 

“You want Sherrinford to be one of your…double oh’s?”

 

“Not as of yet.” Kent refuted, shaking his head. “However, it’s an option on the table. Better the enemy you know.”

 

“Is that why you wanted me? Because I can manage the psychopaths?” He looked down on the drink he was holding and he grimaced as he remembered the taste of it. Deciding that he was already in for a pound, he knocked it back with a gasp and a grimace.

 

“I wanted you because you showed promise in many areas. Your intellect and reasoning were foremost, your management of certain unsavory individuals was a charming addition to your CV. You have the ability to monitor the situation, and keep this world in check. You’re better at it than I am, and I’ve been doing it for over forty years. You’re clever, you’re observant, and you’re able to see connections that most wouldn’t. By the time you’re thirty you’ll have the country under your thumb, and by forty- the world. I don’t doubt your ability nor your ambition. You’re on a very different watch list than your brother. Where we fear what he might one day become, we hope that you might decide to join us still.”

 

“What about Will?” It always came back to that. This argument was circular and never ending. There was likely neither beginning, nor end to this discussion, merely the middle that was constantly spun around and around in a Mobius strip of infinity.

 

“He’s your pressure point, Mycroft. You lost control of Sherrinford because William needed to be protected. You ran away because William needed to be kept safe. You’re thinking about leaving now because William might be in danger.”

 

“What happens if I send him home?”

 

“He lives with your parents. He goes to school. He passes his A-levels and attends University. He makes a life for himself. He’s forced to stand on his own feet and do it on his own merit.”

 

“What happens if he stays?”

 

“He stays with you. He might do his A-levels. He might attend University. He might still make a life for himself, but he’s wholly dependent on you. He won’t know how to manage, because he doesn’t manage now. Instead, he looks to you for guidance and he does whatever you ask of him. He’ll never learn to take care of himself because he’s always relied on you to do it for him. He’ll never grow up.”

 

“It’s dangerous here.” Mycroft whispered, rubbing the glass between his hands.

 

“It’s dangerous there too.” Kent told him. “He’ll be bullied. He’ll get into fights. He’ll likely fall out of a tree at some point and break his arm. He’ll fail. He’ll get sick. He’ll meet someone and have his heart broken. He’ll find disappointment and he’ll find tragedy. But he’s not the puppet master or man behind the curtain. He’s the politician who goes out and gets noticed and does grand things and everyone takes him for granted. He’s the one the papers will follow because he’s done something fantastic and they’ll be enamored with him. He’s going to be brilliant. For all the horrors and tragedies he’s seen and has yet to face: he’s going to be unstoppable.”

 

“How long?” Mycroft asked, closing his eyes and drawing a deep breath in.

 

“Hmm?” 

 

“How long until I have to send him away?”

 

“Is that what you want, Mycroft? The road set before you doesn’t have to be the one you take. You _can_ go home. You do not have to follow this path.”

 

“That’s the thing, though, isn’t it?” Mycroft laughed softly under his breath. He ran a hand over his eyes and he bit his lip. “I _liked_ it. The job. The work. Doing what we did…I _liked_ it. I liked everything about it. I was good at it. And…and he doesn’t have a place in that world, does he?” Mycroft asked Kent.

 

“No. Not in that world. He wouldn’t fit in there at all. With his love for adventure he could be a field agent in his own right, but he’d never do well behind a desk. He would never do well acting as an overseer to the world.”

 

“So, how long until he needs to go?” Mycroft asked again.

 

“I can start your training now. There are several individuals that you’ll be meeting with, you’re going to disappear from all public records the moment you embark down this road. I won’t be the only one training you. Life expectancy in this job isn’t high. It’s a miracle I’ve lasted this long as it is. Should anything happen to me, one of the others will take over. The same goes for them. There’s a long line of heirs and replacements that have come and gone over the years.”

 

“I’m not your first, then?”

 

“My replacements have all been killed.” Mycroft flinched. “You’re it.”

 

“That still doesn’t tell me how long I have.”

 

“How do you want William to leave? Do you want to keep in contact with him? Do you want to sever all ties completely?” It was obvious which one Kent thought to be the wiser choice. He had told Mycroft months ago that he never spoke to his own family. But as obvious as Kent’s choice was to him, Mycroft knew his choice would be just as obvious.

 

“I don’t want to lose him entirely.” He told the man.

 

“Invite your parents up to London. Reintroduce William to them. Have him chose to go home with them. It will soften the blow of your departure.”

 

“He’d never just go with them-”

 

“Your new job requires you to be able to manipulate not just psychopaths, but the standard idiots as well. He’s eight. I’m sure you can think of something. Your brother is the first politician you’ll have to control. Good luck.” Kent reached out and squeezed his shoulder.

 

Somewhere in the house, Red Beard started barking and Mycroft could hear his brother’s laugh echo through the halls.

 

“Just a few more days.” Mycroft murmured. “I’ll send him home. I just need a few more days.” Kent nodded. He never had, and he never would force Mycroft to choose. It was always his choice.

 

Years from now, Mycroft would look back and regret that he hadn’t made the right one.


	8. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> William Sherlock Scott Holmes knows something is wrong. Everyone is acting strange. They're crying all the time, and they keep hugging him and reminding him that they love him. He decides to track down the reason they're all upset, and begins to uncover the secrets kept around his home.
> 
> He discovers that Rudy cross dresses, the maid and his bodyguard are dating, and that some of the staff are stealing.
> 
> What he doesn't find out is that Mycroft is planning to send him away, and while he's busy trying to make things better: everyone else is struggling to say goodbye.
> 
> Neither brother knows it yet, but they've both run out of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Chanel, once again!

William knew something was wrong. He knew it deep in his bones and he could see it wherever he went. Rudy had taken to hugging him tight whenever he was in the kitchen with her. He’d caught Alice crying at one point. Even Greg looked more tense than usual. Mycroft wasn’t talking to him about any of it, and instead seemed to teeter between being more affectionate than he’d been in months and being as cold as ice.

 

“Why doesn’t anyone tell me anything?” William asked Red Beard one night. Mycroft was working with Kent in his office again and try as he might: William still couldn’t convince his brother to tell him what he was doing as a pirate.

 

Mycroft made a point to come home more often than he did before, though. Even if Kent didn’t come with him, he always came back to eat dinner and tuck William into bed. He ran a hand through William’s curls and even dared to pet Red Beard (who was often disgruntled by his affection). “Sleep well, little brother.” Mycroft told him gently, and William wished he could work out just what it was that was making him so sad.

 

When Kent came home, he would sit with them in the library. He put aside his paperwork more frequently and instead took out a violin and played it for them while they read together. Mycroft would pull William to his chest and listen to everything William wanted to talk about; and the whole experience was frightening and uncomfortable.

 

“Are you unwell?” He asked Kent one evening while Mycroft was getting a snack together for them. William wouldn’t eat it, he was too worked up at the moment, but Mycroft wanted it anyway.

 

“Why do you ask?”

 

“Because everyone’s been acting funny and they keep looking at your office door when they don’t think I’m looking. They’re worried, and they all love you. Are you? Ill?” Kent smiled at him and motioned for him to come closer. He did, Red Beard following him with great padded strides.

 

The Irish Setter had grown to half his full height and was filling out now around his shoulders and hind quarters. He’d lost much of his puppy fur and William had found several baby teeth over the past few weeks. He’d taken to collecting them in a drawer by his bed to compare them to Red Beard’s adult teeth when he got older.

 

“You’re observant, aren’t you? You always know when something’s amiss.”

 

“I see lots of things, but I don’t understand it all. I know there’s… _something_ wrong, but I don’t know what. Are you ill? You don’t _look_ ill. If you are, Mike’s really good at making me feel better. He’d help you if you were.”

 

“I’m not ill, Will.” Kent told him, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Though I do need your brother’s help for a while. I’m going to have to take him from you for a lot longer than usual. You might not see him that often.” William frowned at that and considered it very carefully. He didn’t like the idea of it much at all. Red Beard even whined at his side and Red Beard _hated_ Mycroft.

 

“Is it very important?” William asked carefully.

 

“Yes. I don’t know what I’d do without his help. I’m getting too old for this kind of work and he’s going to be very good at it.”

 

“You’re not old. You’re immortal. You’ll live forever.” William told him. Kent laughed loudly at that.

 

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

 

“I don’t know, but you seem too stubborn to die for no good reason. You’re going to stick around forever, aren’t you?”

 

“I’ll certainly try. You are right, though. I’m not going to die for no reason.” Kent pat his head and then knelt down so he was at eye level with him. “You’re a good boy, you know that?”

 

“Not really, I’m an idiot.” William said honestly. Kent’s eyes narrowed.

 

“Your brother has many fine qualities, but his worst has to be his inability to see the effect he has on you. You take everything he says to heart and you really shouldn’t.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You’re no idiot, William. You’re one of the smartest children I’ve ever met and if he calls you that again you’re to remind him that you’re seven years younger than he is and if he still thinks you’re an idiot he should try to remember what _he_ was like when he was your age.” William’s mouth opened, but Kent pressed his finger to his lips. “The world is full of people who will call you horrible things just because they can. They’ll say it because of reckless emotion and ill inspired feeling. Your brother’s worried for you and he’s impatient for you to be the same age as him. It’ll never happen. You’re very smart, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

 

“But who’s to say that _you’re_ not speaking from reckless emotion, and really I’m just as idiotic as Mycroft says?” William countered. Kent paused for a moment and then laughed once more.

 

“Because of that argument right there. No idiot reasons so thoroughly.” He took hold of his violin once more and hesitated for a moment. “Shall I teach you how to play, then?”

 

“Yes, please!” William enthused happily.

 

Mycroft re-entered the room to find Kent kneeling on the ground with William in front of him. He balanced the violin on William’s collarbone and helped him steady the instrument as the child chopped the bow over the strings. The sound wasn’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but the longer they worked at it the better it became. William was smiling the whole time. Mycroft watched them with an expression that bordered on the extreme.

 

 _He’s sad_. William knew. He could see it in Mycroft’s posture, the turn of his lips, the state of his clothes, the exhaustion under his eyes. He was worried about something, but he wouldn’t tell William any of it. Instead, he set the untouched plate of pudding on the table and watched Kent teach William how to play the violin. He never said anything about it.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

William was determined to uncover the secrets in the house, though. He wanted to know why everyone was upset and he was going to fix it if it was the last thing he did. He didn’t care how long it took, so long as it happened. Rudy was the most physically emotional out of everyone in the home, so he planned his attack there.

 

During one of their cooking lessons he watched Rudy with more attention than he’d ever given her before. He took in her hair, her makeup, her clothes, her weight, her posture. He took in the feeling of her arms as they wrapped around him, the press of her body against him, the way her voice modulated up and down.

 

He followed her around constantly, refusing to leave her side for anything. Instead of going to the Library to read, he stayed with Rudy and he engaged in more social conversation than he ever had before. It didn’t take him long to realize that Rudy got more emotional the longer he spent with her. She was on the verge of sobbing after one day of constant interaction. Alice eventually had to come and steer him away in order to let Rudy have some time to herself.

 

“Is _Rudy_ ill?” He asked Alice, but she shook her head and pushed him out of the kitchen completely so she could attend to the chef. Angry at being booted from the room, he hurried to find Greg. “Greg! Is Rudy sick?”

 

“Hmm? Rudy?

 

“Yes, is she sick?”

 

“ _She?_ ” Greg frowned and then opened and closed his mouth for a few moments. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Listen, Will…Rudy’s not a woman.”

 

“Of course she is – you’re blind! Don’t you say anything bad about Rudy!” Greg held up his hands just as Red Beard started barking along with William’s obvious agitation.

 

“Hold on, ya? Rudy’s a man through and through. He jus’ dresses like a dame to cook.”

 

“What’re you talking about? Rudy’s not a man!”

 

“Yes he is. He’s a good ‘un too. We go out for drinks every so often when our schedule allows. He’s a nice bloke, but he’s got some issues is all.”

 

“You’re lying and I don’t talk to liars, and I don’t let liars on my ship. You’re not going to be a pirate with me anymore!” William spun on his heel to march off, but Greg snatched his shoulder.

 

“Hold up, lad.” He said, petting Red Beard into submission when the dog seemed inclined to argue him manhandling the boy. “I don’t want to be kicked off your ship. Give me a chance to explain, ya?”

 

“Don’t you be mean to Rudy then!” Greg ran a tired hand over his face and scratched the back of his head.

 

“All right, all right. Who’ll you believe? Your brother? Would you listen to him?” William frowned and crossed his arms over his chest.

 

“Mike’s busy.”

 

“That’s fine. We can wait for him, ya? Why don’t you and I do something together and I’ll do what you like to stay on your ship until then. If I’m wrong, I’ll walk the plank. Ya?”

 

“Yeah…” William allowed. “All right, but you’ll still walk the plank in the end!”

 

“Anything you say Captain Sherlock.” Greg told him with a sigh. He took a step back and held out his hand. William slipped his hand around the bigger palm, and tugged him off to the Library where they could Research together while they waited for Mycroft to come home.

 

They read together for several hours and William was very proud of himself for having completed his first quarter of the Library. He proudly slipped his newly finished book back onto the shelf and Greg politely congratulated him on his accomplishment. The corners of his eyes were creased somewhat as William told him of his goal to finish reading the whole Library by the end of the year, and offered token words of encouragement that William didn’t quite believe.

 

It was late by the time that Mycroft finally came home and Greg apologized to the teenager for circumnavigating his direction from his bed to the Library to talk to William about Rudy. Mycroft listened to the whole story from his little brother, how Greg was a liar who insisted that Rudy was male and how he needed to walk the plank.

 

“While a good plank walking is likely what many people in this home require,” Mycroft muttered uncharitably, “Greg is right in this instance.”

 

“ _What?”_ William all but shouted, leaping from the couch he was sitting on and waving his hands in the air to show his frustration. “No! No that’s wrong!”

 

“Rudy’s a cross-dresser, Will.” Mycroft said with a sigh. “He dresses like a woman while he cooks, likely because of some social interaction when he was a child that makes him feel as though it’s necessary to do so. He feels more comfortable dressing like a woman during those periods, but is quite masculine during all other aspects of his life. I believe he’s even married to a lovely woman in Brixton. It’s as simple as that.”

 

“But-but-”

 

“Now if we’re quite through. I’m exhausted. Come to bed?” He asked, holding his hand out to William. He took it unconsciously and was led from the room, murmuring a quiet apology to Greg as he passed.

 

“No trouble, little master.” Greg told him in reply.

 

“But I still don’t know the answer to my question.” William mumbled as Mycroft settled him in bed and pulled a blanket over his shoulders.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“Is Rudy sick?”

 

“Physically? No, I expect he’s quite well. Why?”

 

“Because he’s so sad lately. Kent says that _he’s_ not ill, and so I had to wonder if Rudy was?” Mycroft was quiet for a long while, before he leaned down and pressed a kiss to William’s curls.

 

“Rudy’s not sick. Everyone’s fine. Go to sleep.”

 

William still was not contented in the least.

 

The next morning, he woke up to find that Mycroft had already left for work. He went and let Red Beard out in the garden and then got dressed for the day. He found Rudy in the kitchen and he watched him quietly as he cooked. Rudy eventually found him out and asked why he was just waiting in the doorway.

 

Hurrying over, William wrapped his arms around the cook who hugged him back in response. “I’m sorry I never knew you were actually a man and I thought you were a woman, but I really like you either way so can I still cook with you even though I don’t have any girl clothes to wear too?” Rudy gasped loudly and then sank to the floor so William could press his head against his shoulder instead of his waist. Rudy held him even tighter, for once not caring if his hands had been properly cleaned before touching William’s shirt. William didn’t care either and completely ignored the flour that stained his shirt sleeves now.

 

“You don’t need to wear anything other than what you like. I’m so sorry.”

 

“It’s not your fault. I don’t care what you wear. You’re still _my_ Rudy, right?”

 

“Right, of course, anything for you.” William could feel Rudy’s shoulders hitching under his hands and he frowned as he felt tears touching the side of his neck and shoulder.

 

“Why’re you crying? I didn’t mean to make you upset-”

 

“It’s not you, lad. It’s not you.”

 

“ _Are_ you ill?” William asked, panic starting to grow in his chest. When Rudy only started to cry harder, William looked around desperately for someone to help. The other staff members that were there were steadfastly ignoring the whole situation and there was nothing else he could do but just hold on and wait for Rudy to finish crying against his body.

 

“I’m not ill. I just – I love you lad. You know that right? You know I love you?”

 

“Oh…well I love you too, Rudy.” William said, not sure where this was going at all. Rudy just hugged him harder.

 

“And you’ll always remember me? No matter what? You’ll remember me, and the food we made together?”

 

“Sure, I know how to make all sorts of good things because of you.”

 

“Good, that’s good lad. Real good.” Rudy gave him another tight squeeze before pulling back to look William in the eyes. “You can call me Uncle Rudy, if you like.”

 

“Oh…kay…” William agreed, still rather uncertain and unsure if that was the correct response.

 

“Good, very good. Now, how about I show you something new? Hmm? You like that, you like new things don’t you?”

 

“Yes, I like new things.” William agreed again, head still spinning from all the information swirling about it. Rudy nodded and dried his eyes, noticing for the first time that he’d put flour all over both of them. Gasping in shock he hurried William to the sink to wash up properly and did the same.

 

William still wasn’t convinced Rudy wasn’t sick with something. He was acting _very_ odd.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Over the next week and a half, William discovered the following:

 

Alice and Greg had been dating for nearly three months.

 

Two of the cleaning staff members were stealing trinkets about the house.

 

One of the house guards had narcolepsy.

 

And seven other people had various other secrets that impacted them on a daily basis.

 

None of those bits of information explained why everyone was acting so oddly around him. Red Beard didn’t have any insight to offer either, and had taken to groaning miserably whenever William asked him for his opinion. It was unbelievably frustrating.

 

The only good news had been Kent’s violin lessons. William found himself looking forwards to the practice sessions, and while his hands were still too small to truly do well on Kent’s violin, he was starting to see the merits of playing it often. He liked listening to the sounds as they lifted off the strings. He liked the vibrations as the violin resonated through his body. He liked how the music cleared his mind and left him focused on one thing instead of the millions of other little things that wouldn’t let him concentrate.

 

It felt glorious.

 

Even when he wasn’t playing, he took to watching Kent practice. The man admitted that he hadn’t played much over the past few years, but that he used to be quite proficient at the instrument. William didn’t know what _used_ to be meant, considering that the music Kent crafted seemed brilliant.

 

He watched the man play well into the night, until Mycroft coaxed him to relocate to bed and he slept soundly until morning. He memorized the movement and the gentle swaying. He memorized the way that Kent seemed utterly focused on the instrument and nothing else. He hoped that one day he could be as talented as that.

 

“Do you write any of your own music?” He asked Kent once.

 

“All the time. I never play other composers.” Kent replied.

 

“ _Never?_ ”

 

“No…never.”

 

“Then…what’s the song you’re playing now called?” William asked, curious. He peered up at the sheet music on the stand that Kent had before him. It was all marked up with notes and figures. He didn’t see a title on the top of the page, and Kent just smiled at him.

 

“It doesn’t have a name yet, but you’ll be the first to know when it’s finished. How’s that sound?”

 

“Good.” William smiled at him, though Mycroft frowned heavier.

 

That night, when Mycroft was putting him to bed, his brother asked him a question that he hadn’t thought of in the least. “Do you miss mummy and daddy?” Mycroft’s voice was light hearted, an innocent suggestion in the dark. William frowned and made to sit up to talk to his brother properly, though Mycroft pushed him back down when he tried.

 

“No, not really. I don’t think about them. Do you?” William asked, uncertain.

 

“Sometimes. Sometimes when I think about them I do.” Mycroft licked his lips and opened his mouth to say something. He froze half way there, though, and shook his head. “Goodnight.” He said instead, moving to his own bed and climbing in.

 

“Goodnight.” William replied, frowning as his brother rolled over. The clock ticked down an hour, but William couldn’t fall asleep. Rather, he stared at the ceiling and dragged a hand across Red Beard’s fur. He felt his stomach twist uncomfortably in his chest as he thought about his parents for the first time in a long while.

 

He thought about his mother who just wanted to make things right. His father, who used to sit with him and listen to him talk about _everything_ and never complained. He thought about how they were so sad all the time, how they just wanted everything to work and nothing ever did. He thought about how they wanted to send them to school, and threatened to separate them if they didn’t go. William hadn’t liked that last suggestion, but it wouldn’t have been so bad if Mycroft had agreed to go to school in the first place.

 

He liked it in London with all the people around them. Back at home it had only been Mycroft and Sherrinford. Then Sherrinford left and their parents came back and it had felt just too suffocating. Maybe their parents should come and live with them in Kent’s house? They could get a job from Kent, he’d probably know a good position for them.

 

The thought circulated around William’s head and he pressed his face against Red Beard’s body. He wondered if their parents missed them. He hadn’t ever considered it before, and now that he had he couldn’t help but feel sad about leaving the way they did. Mycroft must be feeling guilty about it too, or he wouldn’t have brought it up.

 

Maybe that’s why everyone was so sad lately, maybe Mycroft was homesick and had talked to them about it and now they all thought _he_ was homesick too. William felt his stomach twist more and more and he hurried from his bed to the bathroom as he felt bile start pushing up his throat. Nothing came out, but Red Beard followed him and whined at his side.

 

He pressed his knees to his chest and nausea continued to plague him the more he thought about home and how they left things. He wished Mycroft had never brought it up, because he felt awful and he hadn’t felt like this in ages.

 

He imagined his father in the Library- his father would _love_ the books and the lighting and the furniture design. His mother would adore Rudy and would probably want to help him with everything from cooking to his makeup. Greg would like his parents too.

 

For the first time in nearly a year, William missed his family. He really wanted them to come home.

 


	9. Swan Lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent spends his final days with William plotting him into his memory. He works with Mycroft in order to prepare him for the days ahead. Determined to spend one last night with the child before he goes home to his parents: he arranges for them to spend the night at the ballet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILER WARNING SKIP IF YOU DO NOT WANT THE END OF THIS CHAPTER TO BE SPOILED:
> 
> There is a car accident at the end of this chapter, not described in any excessive detail but there nevertheless. If accidents of this type are triggering to you, if you do not want to see the aftermath of such an event it may be best if you not continue reading this section of Brother Mine.
> 
> Thank you for your understanding, and I look forwards to providing you with stories without such content in the future.

Kent watched over Mycroft and William constantly. He saw the moment William started down the path of no return. It hadn’t been a good sight. Mycroft looked more exhausted than he had in a long while and William refused to get out of bed. Alice, Greg and Rudy all attempted to rouse him up and do something, but William burrowed under his covers and adamantly refused to leave them. Greg took Red Beard out for a walk every few hours, before letting the dog return to William’s side. Kent sighed at the pitiful sight they all made.

 

“What did you say to him?” Kent asked Mycroft when the boy turned up ready for another day of training. Mycroft shoved his hands into his pockets and clenched them into fists.

 

“I asked him if he missed our parents.” Kent paused and considered that. William was an overly affectionate and attached child. While it likely never crossed William’s mind to consider his parents’ emotions, now that he was forced to think about it, clearly he _did_ still have an emotional attachment to them. He missed them, obviously, and wanted to see them. “Three weeks. I’ll send him home in three weeks. I’ll call Mummy and Daddy and have them come by within the next fortnight…and then by the third week William will be going with them.”

 

“Make the call yourself.” Kent told Mycroft firmly. “No one else will do this for you.” Mycroft nodded. He already expected that. “I’d like to take Will to the ballet before he goes.” Kent informed Mycroft in a candid tone. “He enjoys the violin; I believe he’ll enjoy the ballet as well.”

 

“All right. When?”

 

“Is tomorrow satisfactory?”

 

“Yes, it’s fine.” Mycroft didn’t seem to care one way or the other. He just folded in on himself more.

 

“You’ll be meeting with a woman today to go over emotion-” Mycroft laughed slightly before he finished and he paused. “Something funny?”

 

“I had a therapist once who told me I had anger management issues.”

 

“Oh, you do. Trust me. You do.” Kent left it at that, and Mycroft didn’t reply. He led the teenager through his office building, introducing him to important personnel here and there before finally handing him off to his latest mentor.

 

Mycroft would be busy with them for the rest of the day, so it gave him an opportunity to return to his home to oversee the William problem before it got too far out of hand. Mycroft may have anger management issues, but William was a drama queen. He took his personal vehicle back to his home, parking it carefully and then entering with a brisk nod to his doorman.

 

Greg quickly met him at the stairs to inform him that William hadn’t moved from bed all day and that he was likely not going to do so now. Kent thanked him appropriately and then maneuvered his way to the boy’s bedside.

 

Red Beard looked up as he entered, wagging his tail in greeting. He petted the dog on the head and then sat across from William. The boy was curled up under the blankets, covers drawn over his head, feigning sleep. His stomach was growling loudly and Kent realized that despite his best efforts he’d be truly displeased if some harm befell the child. He gave Mycroft far more credit than he had before, knowing it must have been horrifying for him to live with himself as William refused to eat any food that was placed before him. Kent wasn’t sure he’d have managed as successfully as Mycroft did back then. He didn’t enjoy it now.

 

“I’d like to take you to the ballet tomorrow night.” Kent told William, choosing to ignore the boy’s petulance. “ _Swan Lake_ is a fine piece of work, I believe you’ll enjoy it. Afterwards, I’ll teach you a variation on the violin.”

 

“I thought you didn’t play other people’s work.” William’s voice came from somewhere under the covers.

 

“I do for friends. Are you my friend, Will?”

 

“I don’t know. I’ve never told you to take a bath, but you don’t talk to me about pirates.”

 

“Let’s talk about pirates now then, shall we?” Kent offered. The boy tugged the blankets back and met his eyes. He’d been crying. His small face was scrunched up with misery and some of his curls were plastered against his skin. He looked far too young, and Kent knew he’d miss seeing him when he left.

 

“Can Mummy and Daddy come live with us?” William asked, cutting to the chase far sooner than Kent had anticipated. He’d expected that it would have taken more time to get William to open up to him, but the boy obviously had other plans. Kent could appreciate his strength of heart. He leaned forwards and rested his elbows on his knees.

 

“No, Will. They can’t.”

 

“There’s room for them.” William tried again, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth. Red Beard moved and pressed against his side and William’s hands immediately went to rub through his dog’s fine hair.

 

“There is.”

 

“And Rudy always makes enough food – did you know he was a man?”

 

“I did know he was a man, and he does make enough food.” Kent acknowledged.

 

“Then _why_ can’t they stay?” William asked, licking his lips before he returned to rolling his bottom one once more.

 

“Because I won’t allow it.” Kent replied honestly.

 

“Well, you’re mean and I hate you!” William cried out, yanking the cover back over his head and rolling over.

 

“You’ve every right to feel that way, Will. I’m sorry that I’ve hurt you, but I won’t allow them to stay. They can visit as much as they’d like. They can see you whenever they please, but they cannot live here.” William sat back up and Kent smiled slightly at the hopeful look on the boy’s face.

 

“Whenever I please? If I asked them to come up tomorrow, would they be able to?”

 

“What about the ballet?” Kent asked, honestly interested in the answer. William hesitated.

 

“The day after tomorrow. If I asked them to come up the day after tomorrow, would they be able to?”

 

“They have my permission to come up.” Kent agreed. William’s excitement wasn’t there, though. He still looked uncertain.

 

“Would they make me leave with them?” He asked softly. “Mycroft said, _ages_ ago, that if they knew where we were…if _anyone_ knew we were here and not with them that we’d have to leave and go back. I don’t want to go back there. I want to stay here with you. But…I miss them. I’d like to see them again. If I see them again, would they make me go home?”

 

“They cannot force you to return.” Kent replied, wording his response carefully. “If you were forced to go back, it would be because of someone else or some other factor.”

 

“What factor?”

 

“I don’t know, but it wouldn’t be your parents fault.” William accepted the response and pressed his fingers to his mouth as he thought.

 

“Do you have parents?” He asked him.

 

“I did, they died many years ago.”

 

“Oh…what about other family? Do you have any kids?”

 

“Some, but I don’t speak with them. I haven’t seen them in a very long time.” William’s eyes widened with horror.

 

“You _don’t_? Don’t you miss them?”

 

“Every day of my life.” Kent told him. William shifted closer and Kent could feel the weight of the boy’s great blue eyes levied upon him. “I hadn’t expected to have a family, but once I had one, I couldn’t think of anything else. They left many years ago to forge their own way, a way that didn’t include me. I would give anything to see them again, but I know I never will.”

 

“Do you think I should go home?” William asked him. His voice was soft, nearly undetectable. He was nervous and uncertain. For all his endless love for his brother, he was still just a child. He was filled with a moral compass that always pointed north but he was easily influenced by outside forces. Kent looked up, knowing he was deciding this boy’s future now with his words.

 

“Yes, Will. I think you should go home.” William took the news gracefully. He didn’t flinch or try to hide from the words. Instead, he nodded sharply, and he hugged Red Beard closer to his body. “You’ll need a suit for the ballet, come – I’ll help you get fitted so you can wear one.”

 

“Is Mycroft coming with us to the ballet?”

 

“No, I think it’ll be just us for the night. Greg will accompany us for a time as our guard and we’ll have a private box through which to observe the performance.” He stood up and William followed. The child’s stomach growled loudly and Kent ran a hand through his curls. “First, why don’t you run down to Rudy and make yourself something to eat. You’ve gone far too long without sustenance.”

 

The boy did as he was told and Kent watched him and Red Beard leave together. He took a look around the bedroom. Mycroft kept it spotless, not one thing out of place. Aside from the clumps of dog hair that covered William’s sheets, the room was extraordinarily clean. Even so, he knew it would feel empty without William in it. He’d have a new room prepared somewhere else in the house for Mycroft to use when William left. The teen would have enough troubles without adding the heartache of William’s empty bed to them.

 

Kent walked through his home, giving attention to all the changes that had taken place since the boys had moved in all those months ago. The guards that had long since been stiff and formal now were more relaxed and aware of their surroundings. Kent could see the way they watched over the boy, with a fondness that couldn’t be denied. He didn’t doubt that their loyalties were still to the crown and their missions, but they cared for the child and wouldn’t see him harmed for anything.

 

Greg was the most blatant with his affections. He hadn’t cared about the shift change in the slightest. Instead, he seemed to bask in the change of position. He monitored the boy’s progress and reported back to Kent everything that he wanted to know. William’s intelligence, his reasoning, his problem solving skills were recorded daily. Kent was pleased to see that the boy truly was the shining star he’d thought he’d be. Mycroft’s opinion on him was clouded by bias and judgment, but Greg’s was not. Greg gave an open evaluation of the child, and was proud to do it.

 

Kent had seen Greg interact with William in various situations. He’d watched Greg comfort him when William was in hysterics over something seemingly trivial, and he’d listened as Greg swore he’d always be there to protect the boy. “Nothing’s going to happen to you, so long as I’m there, you understand?” Greg had asked him. William had looked up at him with wide eyes, uncomprehending of the weight of Greg’s oath. “I’m going to look after you, and you’re going to grow up to be that mighty pirate of yours, ya?”

 

“Yeah.” William had agreed.

 

Kent knew he’d told Mycroft he’d stay out of the way of arrangements going forwards, but Greg was one arrangement that he wouldn’t leave as a loose end. Mycroft had no power over the staff, yet, and Kent wouldn’t let this fall through the cracks. He called for Greg to meet him in his office while William was in the kitchen and the guard did as he was told in quick time.

 

Greg shut the door behind him and stood before Kent with perfect posture. Of all the guards he’d trained and had in his household, Kent was most proud of the versatility of this one. “You’re aware of the arrangements being made over William’s lodgings?”

 

“Yes, sir.” Kent nodded curtly at the response.

 

“You’ll be travelling with him. I’m uncomfortable with the thought of leaving him without protection after the time he’s spent here, and should Sherrinford be released and returned to his parents’ care, there will be no one he can truly turn if a pressing need arises.” Greg took the news gracefully, agreeing to the assignment without any fuss. Some might have deemed it to be beneath him, he’d been hired as a member of Kent’s staff after all – not a child’s. Greg didn’t seem overly concerned with that, however. Instead, he pressed for more information.

 

“Is that likely to occur, sir?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Is Sherrinford likely to be released into his parent’s care?”

 

“More likely than I’d prefer. He’ll be monitored, of course, and he’ll be removed immediately if he steps one toe out of line. Having you there is also to ensure nothing gets overlooked. The outside team can only observe so much. I want someone I can trust to be watching him for any sign of misconduct.”

 

“Of course, sir.” Greg nodded, cloaking his order around him and letting it seep into his skin. It was a part of him now, a part of the mission that he was duty bound to put into place.

 

“With any luck it won’t be an issue. Mycroft should have things well in hand by then and between the pair of us we’ll manage that situation with ease. Over the next week we’ll discuss counter measures to set in place and by the time Will goes home the danger should have passed entirely. For now, as Will doesn’t yet know of our plans, you’ll keep this to yourself.”

 

“Yes, sir.” Greg agreed once more. Kent dismissed him and he marched swiftly out the door to his young charge.

 

Kent sighed. There was still so much work to be done prior to William leaving and it all needed to be done right. Mycroft didn’t see the value in his brother yet; he was too worried about him to understand that William was going to be a politician Mycroft _wanted_ on his side rather than under his thumb.

 

They had time, however, and Kent was ready to make all the adjustments for his young apprentice. He’d see in the end.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Mycroft returned from work sooner than anticipated and he met Kent and Greg at the suit fitting for William. The young boy was rapt with attention through the whole experience, watching the tailor come and go with all of the materials he needed. Kent encouraged Mycroft to get a suit of his own, and so he joined his brother on the pedestal to be sized and measured.

 

They’d look charming when they were finished. Both brothers had the physique to fit into a good suit well and Kent looked forwards to seeing them presented side by side. He’d miss watching over them both. He’d miss William rather a lot, now that he truly thought about it. William’s departure was necessary, but it didn’t change the fact that it ached. It was like losing his family one more time. The blow was less fierce, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

 

The group decided to walk back to Belgravia. The constant deluge over the past week had let up and the sun was finally peeking through the clouds. William, dress shirt, slacks and all, scrambled onto a stone wall that circumnavigated a park they passed. He held his arms out to his side and balanced like a tightrope walker as he moved. Mycroft hurried to his side and held out his hand.

 

“Hold my hand so you don’t fall.” Mycroft requested, though it came out more like an order. William scoffed slightly at Mycroft’s statement and gave him a patronizing expression.

 

“I never fall.”

 

“You might one day, and if it’s today wouldn’t you be embarrassed to have refused my help to begin with.” Scowling at Mycroft’s reasoning, William took his hand and held it for the rest of his journey.

 

Kent’s heart squeezed. The ache hurt worse and worse.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The next night, William stood in the foyer in his new suit. Someone had attacked his curls and bent them into submission. He looked very smart in his little shirt and tie. Red Beard was pressed against his side and Kent wouldn’t dream of separating them even in formal attire. There were some battles not worth fighting.

 

Mycroft waved them off, William kissed Red Beard good bye, and Greg led the way into their vehicle. William’s enthusiasm was boiling over and he was smiling at every sight they passed with excitement. Kent answered all of his numerous questions and he caught Greg grinning at the child’s anticipation.

 

Kent led the boy up to his box seat. William rushed past his chair to lean over the balcony and look at the stage. His eyes immediately sought the orchestra in the pit and he counted the musicians and memorized their position. “Do you think I’ll be good enough to play with them one day?” William asked Kent, looking over his shoulder.

 

“With the progress you’ve made thus far, I don’t see why not.” Kent replied, settling into his seat. The answer appeased the boy and he bounced on his toes as he leaned all his body weight on the bar. It held firm and didn’t budge in the slightest. The architects had William in mind when they built this box.

 

When the lights dimmed, Kent didn’t bother to have William sit down. No one else was around to see or complain about his posture. Music filled the hall and the dancers took center stage. With one eye on the ballet and one eye on William, Kent memorized the joy and wonder that crossed the boy’s face.

 

William was blown away by the majesty of the performers and he leaned closer and closer to watch them. He wanted to reach out and become a part of their world, embrace it as his own. His fascination was infectious, and Kent leaned into his seat.

 

As a final night of leisure before the many weeks of torment before Will went home, this had been worth it. One last experience to hold close before Will left. It was made all the better when the curtain closed and Will turned to look at him.

 

“Thank you Captain Thomas, I loved it.”

 

He had nothing left to say but “I’m glad.”

 

Side by side, they walked back to their car and climbed inside. Kent put an arm around the boy’s shoulders and listened to him talk rapid fire about the ballet, the music, the dancing, _everything_. He settled into complacency and gleefully thought of nothing at all.

 

That is, until a truck crashed into the side of their vehicle and the world twisted on its side, pitching awfully as William’s joy descended into terrified shrieks of horror.


	10. Caring is Not an Advantage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent, Greg, and William are captured by an unknown assailant. Kent deals with what he's hoped to avoid his entire career: the death of his loved ones, or the delivery of state secrets to a terrorist organization.
> 
> Afterwards, Mycroft has to deal with what is left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Torture, Minor Character Death, and Physical Harm to Minors
> 
> Thank you Chanel for beta reading!

Kent’s head was spinning. When he opened his eyes the world was blurred and striated with black and gold. The gold moved from side to side like a pendulum and shadows crossed before it.

 

“Get him in the back.”

 

Glass shattered somewhere by his head and he blinked sluggishly in an attempt to see what was happening around him. He tried to move his hand to the side but it wouldn’t react to his commands. Instead, it only twitched uselessly.

 

“Move, move!”

 

Someone was screaming, high pitched and petrified. Another voice was struggling over the din in an attempt to calm it, but it kept ringing. It grew louder and louder until it peaked and white noise blotted everything out.

 

Kent could feel something grabbing onto his body and he moaned in pain, reality crashing around him as he registered his own injuries. Head, shoulder, back, side, leg- he _ached_ like the damned. A moan was pulled from his throat as another rough tug snatched his arm.

 

There was an explosion, somewhere, a rapport report of gunfire and a shuddered yell of surprise.

 

“Run, Will! _Go!_ Damn it, _Will!_ ”

 

Bodies moved this way and that, completely useless and unnecessary. Kent couldn’t make out who was who, or exactly what had led to this muddled confusion. In his mind he could see the ballet, the dancers spinning round and round – William watching in awestruck delight.

 

 _William_.

 

“Quickly!”

 

Kent squeezed his eyes shut and then forced them open, he pressed his head against his arm and rubbed his sleeve against his eyes. His vision cleared just enough to make sight of the disaster that was around him. The side door was wide open and Greg was firing over the hood of the vehicle, standing protectively over William’s body. The boy was shaking violently, frozen with fear and confusion. Greg was struggling to keep William safe, had tried to get him to flee, but the boy’s legs hadn’t cooperated. His hands were pressed against his ears and his eyes were squeezed tight.

 

 

He was just a child.

 

William was _leaving_ this life. What the _hell_ went wrong?

 

“Grab the kid!”

 

Another volley of gunfire and Kent watched as Greg’s shoulder was pierced. He stumbled backwards, hesitating just enough for another bullet to hit him. He fell, arching back onto the ground and disappearing just out of sight. William was on him in an instant, shaking and screaming and crying.

 

Someone snatched him about the waist.

 

“Let me go! Greg- _Greg!_ ”

 

He was being carried away. Kent tried to force himself upright but he didn’t quite make it. It hardly mattered. A stranger appeared and he was dragged forwards. He gasped in pain and was ignored. His eyes sought out William and he was gratified to see that he was being carried in the same direction as the child.

 

Where he’d been frozen before, now William was fighting back with everything he had. He was thrashing in his captor’s arms, kicking and clawing, even biting at anything that came near him. It was entirely useless.

 

 _“MYCROFT!”_ William screamed for his brother, repeating his name over and over again with equal effect each time. Kent could hear something else being dragged and he looked back to see that Greg had been pulled up and was being brought with them.

 

William was thrown into the van first. Then Kent. Then Greg.

 

Kent couldn’t move, still pained and dazed from the accident, but Greg could. Even bloodied and injured, he dragged himself over to where William had been tossed and pulled the boy into his arms. William clung onto him desperately, hyperventilating and crying loudly.

 

It was an awful thought to think at a time like this, but all Kent was able to focus on for the remainder of their fast paced and successful kidnapping was that William’s suit was ruined.

 

He’d liked that suit.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

They were never separated. Kent was grateful for that at least. Even as he faded in and out of consciousness, he was always aware that William and Greg were still with him. It would make their rescue easier and it would slow down their abductors. The attack was well executed, obviously, but the longer he stayed with them, the more likely they were to be found. It shouldn’t have happened to begin with and Kent was going to restructure his staff as soon as he was back home.

 

William had stopped crying and instead was shivering violently against Greg’s side. The bodyguard had wrapped him with his jacket, wincing as the movement tugged at his injuries. His shoulder was still bleeding, but it was tapering off. The bullet wound to his side had been superficial at best and had already stopped.

 

  1. Kent’s mind supplied as he looked at the child. _He’s going into shock._



 

He didn’t know what to say. His tongue felt sluggish and useless as it was and now that he was in this situation he was drawing a blank. There was nothing comforting he could offer the boy. He was a bystander in a bloody battle between him and the rest of the world. There was literally no use in having either Greg or William along on this journey and the more Kent tried to think about the reasons they were taken, the more his head ached and he wished he’d not thought of it at all.

 

For the most part, no one spoke.

 

They switched vehicles at least three times, although it could have been more since Kent wasn’t entirely conscious through most of it, and the journey felt endless. By the time the world stopped spinning, the wheels stopped turning, and they were being taken out of their latest van, the sun was already up.

 

William’s legs weren’t cooperating properly and Greg pulled him up into his arms, hissing from pain and gasping with each step. Sweat poured from Greg’s head. Kent wished he could formulate some kind of chastisement towards the guard but he couldn’t manage it. Greg was doing the only thing he knew how: protecting William as best he could for however long he had. He, like Kent, already knew what the most likely endgame of this situation was going to be. It wasn’t going to be pretty for any of them.

 

They were put into a small empty room with bars on the window. The door was locked tight behind them, and Greg immediately collapsed in the corner. Kent settled across from them and watched as Greg tried to comfort the child. William was still shivering, and no matter how softly or gently Greg spoke, it didn’t look like he’d stop anytime soon.

 

“We’re going to get through this, Will.” Greg lied to the boy. Kent appreciated the effort. “We’re going to get through this, and you’re going to be a pirate, and we’re going to go sailing off on adventures, ya? You, and me, and Red Beard. Sherlock and his crew, ya?” He nudged the boy. “Come on, ya?”

 

“Yeah.” William whispered. It was broken and uncertain, but Greg took it for what it was. At least it was a response.

 

“Good lad, good lad. We’re going to be fine. No one takes out Captain Thomas, ya? His whole crew’s going to look for us and we’re going to be just fine. You’ll see.” He stroked William’s hair and held him closer, wincing as the bullet tugged his shoulder.

 

All they had left to do now was wait.

 

And wait.

 

And wait.

 

The door opened, and they all looked up.

 

A man strode in, raised a gun, and Kent didn’t have time to shout a warning, a plea for leniency, or a fevered goodbye, before the bullet struck home and splattered out from the back of Greg’s head. William screeched, throwing himself back from the shock and the horror, scrambling away and shaking his head in confused fear.

 

Two more men snatched the boy up, one at each arm. They dragged him forwards and settled him right before Kent. The gunman leveled his pistol to the back of William’s head.

 

That’s when the questions started.

 

With Greg lying dead on the ground and William shaking apart before his eyes, that’s when the questions started. Kent swore an oath years ago to never betray his country, and at the time he never thought he would.

 

But as he watched in silence, ever cognizant of the passage of time via the light through the window, he could feel shards of his soul stripping from his chest. He watched as they smacked William’s face, as they punched him in the gut, as they broke his arm.

 

He had sent his own family away to avoid this. He had refused to speak with them, turned his back on them, had shut them out to avoid this.

 

Sentiment. Sentiment was what led to this. He’d been far too complacent.

 

“Tell us what we need to know,” he was ordered as the gun leveled to the back of William’s head. He knew that he had only hours left until his own response unit found them. He knew that if he held out just a bit longer, they’d be saved. But if this continued for much longer, he also knew that he’d talk. He had no desire to see William in pain, no desire to see him die.

 

The safety was off. The man’s patience was fading. If they killed William they’d truly have nothing, but there were so many things that could be done to him that they still had yet to explore. Bones could break, bruises would fade, but there were atrocities that would never heal and Kent wanted no part of any of it.  

 

His tongue played on the catch behind his back molar. He could feel the small capsule release and he rolled it in his mouth. Looking at William, he knew that for once in his life he was being a coward. He knew that William would likely not last the next few minutes, let alone the wait for the response team to arrive. He knew that he’d have to watch the boy’s life end simply by virtue of him being too sentimental about saying goodbye. William should have been at home with his brother, not with him at the ballet.

 

“I’m sorry, Will. Truly am.” He said to the boy. William was looking back at him with tear tracks drenching down his face. He was still shivering violently after all this time and Kent grimaced. William’s mouth parted, as though to speak, but no words came out. Kent took his opportunity; he broke the capsule between his teeth, and he _burned_.

 

William’s screams turned desperate and longing, and Kent’s mind broke and shattered in the face of such a violent end. _Swan Lake_ echoed in his mind, and his last thoughts were like a broken mirage that flashed before his eyes. He saw the beauty of the ballet and counterpoint to it all was  a screaming child that never wanted it to end.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Mycroft had been wringing his hands in his lap for what seemed like days. He’d been called in to consult on the kidnapping of a government official. It was only when he’d arrived that he realized which official had been taken, and who had been with him. He felt like he was running out of fuel, like his body was falling into a pit of despair that he’d never get out of.

 

He should have sent William home weeks ago… _months_ ago. He should have packed him up and never looked back. William had no business being in London and he’d been warned so many times that it was dangerous around Kent. He’d been told over and over that Kent’s way of life offered no room for sentiment.

 

He was _told_ that tragedy struck loved ones; everyone around Kent died. He _knew_ the life expectancy of his job, and that there was a reason that Kent lived alone and sent his family far away. He knew all of this, and spat in its face. His arrogance had cost him his brother. His little brother had been kidnapped and it had been entirely his fault.

 

He tracked the patterns, he followed the vehicles, he assembled a team and he sent them all out, but in the end there was nothing he could do to prevent the inevitable. William had already been taken, whatever horrors he saw would be his alone to bear and nothing could change that. Mycroft had failed.

 

He couldn’t bring himself to eat, nor to sleep, as he waited. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything but hope that something came of all of this. He wanted anything except a body bag. He could work with pain and trauma, but he couldn’t heal death. He couldn’t fix that.

 

A phone rang nearby and his head lifted. One of the staff members answered it and then received the information. She turned to Mycroft. “Thomas Kent and his bodyguard are dead. William is en route to St. Mary’s hospital now.”

 

Mycroft left the room without thanking her or saying a word. He all but ran down the stairs and towards the door. He was just about to cross the threshold when a hand fell down on his shoulder. It was one of his new mentors, one of the new faces in his life that he’d sworn allegiance and apprenticeship to.

 

“Do not go to him.” He was told firmly.

 

“I have to, he’s my brother-”

 

“He was taken because of his familiarity with Kent. If you leave now and rush to his side, you’ll prove to the world that he is still a target worth pursuing. He’ll be taken again and he might not make it back alive next time. Stay here. Send a staff member to oversee his rehabilitation. Then send him home. Do not speak with him.”

 

“I- _he’s my brother!_ ”

 

“And we have all lost siblings, children, and loved ones in the course of this job. You chose this path, Mycroft Holmes. You cannot leave it now. If you want your brother to live, then you will leave him alone. Send him home. Do not delay.”

 

Mycroft felt his breath come in short bursts and his head ached badly. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block out the nausea that had started to boil in his gut. He felt physically ill. He felt as though the world had been yanked out from under his feet, like it had stopped spinning and he was the only one still orbiting about the sun.

 

Everything hurt.

 

He forced himself to walk back to the planning room. He forced himself to stumble through the mission he was still overseeing. He tried to ignore the fact that his brother, _eight years old_ , was in a hospital somewhere by himself. He tried to ignore the guilt that was building in his heart.

 

It didn’t work.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Mycroft heard the reports time and again. He listened to the story from start to finish. He listened to operatives tell him how they failed to keep Kent’s vehicle secure, how Greg had tried to save William and failed, how Greg was shot in front of William and Kent, how William was tortured ( _mildly_ was the term they used though Mycroft loathed to hear it) in an attempt to convince Kent to give information, and how Kent had committed suicide only three minutes before his response team arrived.

 

William had a broken arm, three cracked ribs, a mild concussion and various scrapes and bruises that were inconsequential. He also wasn’t talking to anyone. He had asked for Mycroft only once, but when he’d been told that Mycroft wasn’t able to come, he hadn’t asked again. It was the last time anyone had heard his voice since he was found.

 

Mycroft arranged everything with the staff members at Kent’s home. Alice was inconsolable, and so he’d bypassed her to the others that loitered about the house like flies around rotting flesh. He requested a police escort to come for his brother at a set time, and he informed everyone on site that William was no longer a part of the household.

 

Red Beard sat with him in the Library as he stared at the walls, not knowing what he was meant to do or say. Kent’s violin lay untouched by the stand, his paperwork was all neatly filed in his locked cabinet. Everything was exactly as it had been just a few days prior, and yet the world was so different now.

 

Mycroft pressed his face into Red Beard’s fur, and the dog let him. The Irish Setter rested his head against Mycroft’s shoulder and for hours they held onto each other like the last lifeline of a ship doomed to sink. Someone came in to quietly inform him that William’s bags had been packed and were waiting by the door. Mycroft thanked him without looking up.

 

He had seen enough tears and enough tragedy in the faces of those around him to last him a lifetime. He wasn’t sure he could do it again. Not right now. Red Beard nuzzled the side of his face and for the first time since the dog came into their lives, Mycroft was thankful to have him with him. He wished he’d had more time to enjoy Red Beard, and he wasn’t even sure if he enjoyed him now.

 

Though he could see the appeal.

 

A car pulled up out front and Mycroft knew the policemen would be there shortly. The front door opened and he took a deep breath. Red Beard must have smelled his master because he pulled away from Mycroft and hurried to greet William as he came home. Mycroft followed him out and nearly broke in the face of adversity that stood before him in the guise of his little brother.

 

William looked awful. He was battered and bruised and miserable, and he looked up at Mycroft with soulful eyes that begged for understanding and help. Mycroft wouldn’t be able to give him any of it. He couldn’t fix this. He couldn’t make it better. All he could do was make things worse for his brother, because the only way to keep him safe was to remove him entirely from the equation.

 

“You’re going home within the next few minutes. I’ve had the staff pack your bags.” Mycroft informed William without preamble. He couldn’t bring himself to even ask the boy if he was all right. He wasn’t. Mycroft could see that plain as day.

 

William stared at him. He didn’t say anything. He just stood there. Red Beard was at his feet, pressing against his hand, but William didn’t even bother to pet him. He just stood motionless before his brother and did _nothing_.

 

Mycroft couldn’t remember a time when William looked so despondent. He couldn’t remember a time when William was so still and so…fragile. He had always thought William to be weak and rather useless at certain endeavors, but he’d never imagined him to be delicate. He was now, though. He was now.

 

Police lights filtered through their windows. They were ready to take William home now, post haste. Tears had started to form in William’s eyes and Mycroft watched the light reflect through them as they fell. His face was marred with so much colour already that the effect was horrifying in its beauty and unique quality.

 

The door opened and the officers stepped inside. “Goodbye, William.” Mycroft told his brother, before forcing himself to turn around and walk up the stairs.

 

“Mycroft…” William whispered, broken voice carrying straight to his ears. Mycroft didn’t turn around. He couldn’t look back. Not this time. “Mycroft…” He could hear someone trying to move William towards the door. Red Beard was whining from all the chaos that was filling their normally stoic foyer. “ _Mycroft_.” One foot forwards. One step at a time. He tried to ignore the sound of his brother’s voice breaking. William was struggling now, Red Beard was barking. Someone had scooped the dog up, though, and Mycroft could hear the whining intensify as the dog tried to move. “ _Mycroft, no!_ ” His brother broke through and was rushing up the stairs now, Mycroft felt William’s fingers dig into his arm. He held firm, shaking his head frantically.

 

One of the officers caught hold of William and picked him up. He jerked William’s body away so his hand left Mycroft’s arm. Mycroft could feel skin break as his brother’s nails were jerked free. The boy yelped as his broken ribs were agitated, but he wasn’t released as he fought to escape. Mycroft stood frozen as he watched William be carried towards the door.

 

“Don’t send me away! Don’t make me go! Mycroft- _Mycroft!_ I don’t want to go! I don’t want to! I-” The front door closed, creating a walled barrier between them. He could hear Red Beard barking, he could hear his brother crying and fighting to escape, but the exact words were muted.

 

The squad car pulled away from the curb and disappeared down the street. William was gone. Greg was gone. Kent was gone.

 

Mycroft looked at the house that stood valiantly around him. Alice and Rudy were by the kitchen door, both crying together. Even some of the guards looked like they wouldn’t be lasting much longer. They looked to him for guidance, but Mycroft had nothing to say.

 

Nothing was supposed to be like this. This new world was supposed to be the perfect balance of the old and the new. He was going to be brilliant at his job, and he’d still have William as a brother and a friend.

 

He should have listened to Kent all those months ago.

 

Sentiment was a chemical defect found in the losing side.

 

And he’d lost.


	11. Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> William Sherlock Scott Holmes needs to make a decision about how he wants to live, and what type of life he's going to pursue. With that choice, he decides on a new name. From now on, he'll only be known as "Sherlock."
> 
> His parents agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Chanel for beta reading!
> 
> This is the end of the first part of my Brother Mine series. 
> 
> Brother Mine: Who We Learn From will be posted soon. I look forwards to seeing you all there!

The squad car pulled up in front of the Holmes Residence a little after sunset. Margaret Louise Holmes had just stepped outside to check on her plants when it came around the bend. She frowned at it, not expecting visitors and watched it come to a halt just before her front steps. Two officers stepped out, and the first one approached her while the second moved to the backseat. Her eyes tracked the second even as the first started talking.

 

“Mrs. Holmes…there’s been an incident.” The officer began. She watched the second man open the door and lean in – speaking softly to whomever was in the back. “Thomas Kent is dead.” The news was distracting enough to revert her attention to the man nearest her.

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“He died three days ago. Mycroft elected to remain behind and continue his work, but he instructed us to bring William-” Margaret wasn’t listening any longer. She was off the porch and rushing towards the car. A small boy with dark curly hair had just emerged, Irish Setter at his side. He’d been beaten. His arm was broken and was in a cast strapped to his chest.

 

She called his name, falling to her knees at his feet. Her hands ghosted up towards his body, his face, she didn’t know whether to touch his battered features or to stay away. She longed to hold him to her, but with how they separated…

 

She needn’t have worried. Her youngest son leaned forwards and pressed his head to her shoulder. She held him to her, and while he didn’t cry or say anything at all, she could feel the pain echoing from his body. His dog whined at his side and she looked down to see him. His eyes were bottomless pools of uncertainty. He could see his master’s agony, but had no idea how to fix him.

 

The officers retrieved William’s things from the boot. Margaret carefully began to guide her son inside. “Arthur! Arthur!” She called out for her husband to come immediately, and he came around the bend just as she closed the door to the retreating officers. William was still at her side, not moving one way or the other. He was so quiet, Margaret wasn’t sure what to do or what to say. She looked towards her kitchen, but there was nothing prepared, and she didn’t know if he would eat it anyway.

 

It had been so long since she’d seen him. She didn’t know anything at all about the specifics of his life. She knew he’d been well taken care of and that he had a pet, but other than that there was nothing. What were his favorite foods now? What recipes did he enjoy? What were his new hobbies? Did he still like pirates? He liked them before…maybe she should see if there were any pirate toys still lying around the house. Did he still play with toys?

 

“Will? Would you like anything to drink? Are you hungry?” She asked anyway, nervous and unsettled. She didn’t know what she was meant to say or do, she was hovering on the edge of a chasm – worried she’d fall.

 

She’d made so many errors in the past. Back then he’d left and she’d lost both her sons. Now, now he was here and she was determined not to mess this up. She was determined to do everything right. She had to.

 

Except Will wasn’t talking back. He didn’t respond or react to anything. He hadn’t even acknowledged his father. He just stood there for several long minutes, until her rushed questions had faded into silence and all that could be heard was a clock in the other room. Then, William walked slowly past them all and up the stairs to his old bedroom.

 

They followed nervously, watching him as he pressed open the door to the room.

 

Nothing had changed. Not a photo moved, not a book touched. The beds were still made with the same sheets that had been there one year ago. There wasn’t any dust. Everything had been aired out frequently and washed obsessively. He stood in the doorway and looked at his bed, then his brother’s, and he took it all in.

 

“We-we didn’t know if-when you’d be back. So we…” Margaret trailed off, uncomfortable and unsure. His dog whined at his feet and pressed up into his slack hand. William ignored it. He dragged his feet forwards and he stood before the still open window that had been their method of escape.

 

His lips trembled and his fingers shook. He reached out with his good hand and he pressed down on the pane, but it had jammed into place long ago. “We-we didn’t know if you’d use it to come back-”

 

“People don’t enter through windows.” William whispered, voice scratchy and raw. Margaret started at the sound and floundered for an appropriate response. William kept shoving at the pane, trying to force it closed. It refused to budge. He tried harder and harder, but without his second hand he didn’t have the leverage for it. Margaret was just about to warn him not to hurt himself, when her husband stepped forwards and gently placed his hands on the pane.

 

They shut it together, sliding it into place with a snick. William stared at it, hand falling back to his side now that it was without purpose. He diverted his gaze to his bed. “I’m tired.” He murmured.

 

“Oh! All right, why don’t we get you something to sleep in? Do you want new sheets?”

 

“These are fine.” He shook his head and toed off his shoes. He sat down on the mattress, and his dog immediately pushed against his hand once more. This time he let his fingers slide through the dog’s wiry hair.

 

“Would you like us to stay?” Her husband asked, kneeling before William to look him in the eye.

 

“Doesn’t matter.” William told him.

 

“I’d like to stay, if that’s all right with you. I’ll be right over there,” he pointed towards Mycroft’s bed. “If you need anything, you just let me know.” William didn’t reply, just turned over and lay down. He pulled the blankets up over his shoulders, and his dog hopped up on the bed and sat protectively at his side.

 

Margaret watched her husband turn and look at her, his expression concerned and implicative. He settled his back against Mycroft’s bed and sat sentry to their youngest, and she turned to go downstairs. She had questions, and she was going to get her answers.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Mycroft Holmes was a very difficult person to get a hold of. He was _always_ busy. Margaret didn’t care what he was busy with, however, she had enough clout left to cut through the line of underling bullshit and force him on the phone. If he wanted to play at being a Big Boy, then he would have to deal with her one way or another.

 

He sounded older, and far more exhausted than she imagined he would. She wondered if he’d been injured in whatever catastrophe had landed William back in their care, but knew better than to question his ability to take care of himself. Mycroft was many things, and proud only covered a small part of his magnificent presence. He wouldn’t speak with her unless it was worded appropriately, but she felt no need to dance around the bush on this.

 

“What happened to him?” She asked, jumping straight to the point with no pleasantries. Mycroft paused, initially, collecting his thoughts. Then he responded.

 

“Kent took him to the ballet, their return journey was accosted. William, Kent, and his body guard were kidnapped. From what I gather, his body guard was shot, and he was beaten in an attempt to coerce Kent into revealing certain information.”

 

“And did they succeed?”

 

“Kent took a suicide pill and died three minutes before help could arrive. No sensitive data was lost.”

 

“I see.”

 

“He spent two days in hospital recovering, and I sent him home to you as soon as he was released.” Mycroft went on.

 

“Yes, I can quite see that.” She snapped back. She imagined her son to be startled by her ferocity. Generally speaking, unless they were arguing with one another she never took this tone with him.

 

But she knew as she had been tossed from one representative to another, that she was no longer entitled to speak with her son as if he were _her son_. Mycroft Holmes was an entity that was quickly shaping itself in the government. He was a ghost that would disappear very shortly. When he did, he was expected to act and behave in a certain way. He’d already started to go down that path. She knew the road he was on and had chosen to leave it far behind her. There had been other people more important to her than the world.

 

She’d never regretted that decision, and she never would.

 

“If that’s all…” Mycroft sounded strained, and Margaret felt a faint feeling of pity for her son. He was in for a difficult transition and an impossible ride. He wouldn’t like the road he was on. Some days would be perfectly acceptable, but most others would burn like acid.

 

“Did you speak with him? Before you sent him off?”

 

“I informed him he was leaving.” Mycroft told her.

 

Translation: He had been informed that personal attachments were no longer permitted because _look at all the trouble he caused_.

 

Translation: William, after being kidnapped, after watching a man he trusted be murdered, after being tortured, and after seeing a man he cared for commit suicide, had been rescued and immediately abandoned by the only person in his circle he trusted implicitly.

 

Translation: Mycroft felt guiltier than she even imagined.

 

She could only help one of them. The other was much too far away now.

 

“What’s the dog’s name?” She asked, and she must have startled him again because he let out a strange sound from the back of his throat before replying.

 

“Red Beard.”

 

“Of course it is.” She laughed. She could imagine a happier child, running around with his puppy and thinking of adventures on the high seas. Shaking the image from her mind, she was suddenly serious: “Remember this, Mycroft,” she told him firmly. “Sometimes your mentors are _wrong_.” She didn’t bother to say goodbye to him. It would be pointless anyway. She hung up the phone with a click and rested her hands against the counter. Taking a deep breath in she tried to focus her thoughts.

  

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Healing took time.

 

Physically, William’s injuries faded within six weeks. His cast was removed from his arm, and he was allowed to move about unattended. Margaret had hoped that her son would immediately rush to the trees he had played with when he was younger and scare her by trying to climb one with his still weak arm.

 

He didn’t. He walked outside and pressed a palm to the tree closest to the house. He looked up at its boughs, and he left it alone. He pushed his hands in his pockets, leaned his head forwards in quiet misery. He never left the line of sight from the house. He eyed the road with suspicion and didn’t try to move down it. The fields that were in the back of their property were largely unused.

 

He made it as far as the porch, most days, and he sat on the top step with his hands running through Red Beard’s fur, and he barely spoke. He joined Margaret in the kitchen and he made food for the whole family. He curled his body around itself whenever he sat, not bothering to sit properly or maintain good posture.

 

He didn’t read.

 

He didn’t Research.

 

He didn’t study.

 

He sat still and motionless and he aimed his thoughts inwards and outwards, but refused to expand his horizon past what he could see. He dreamed about the past. He dreamed about blood and death and pain and horror. He woke up screaming, Red Beard barking in alarm, tangled in the sheets.

 

Sometimes it helped that they were there for him. Sometimes when he woke up from a nightmare, seeing that there was another person beside him helped. He’d calm faster, he’d attempt to go back to sleep, and he’d feel more centered. Other times, he just wanted to be alone. He’d look up and turn his back, refusing to meet their eyes or answer their comforting words.

 

They stayed with him, always within hearing distance for as long as he wanted and beyond. If they returned to their rooms, they left both doors open to better hear each other. Sometimes Margaret would lay awake and listen to William walk to their door. He’d never say anything, but he’d watch them breathe for a little while before returning to his room and trying to sleep once more.

 

The worst times were the moments when he cried for his brother. He’d thrash in his bed, scream for Mycroft to come for him, and when he woke up alone he’d sob into his pillow. Those times, it didn’t matter which parent was there, so long as one of them offered their support. He’d press against them and cling on tight, refusing to back away or let go for anything.

 

Margaret wondered if it was appropriate to think about therapy again. Considering how poorly it worked last time, she doubted that was a viable option. Her husband agreed. Instead, they worked around what they already knew. William was hurting, he was lonely, and he was brilliant. His great mind kept spinning around with thoughts that were too big for him to understand or fully work out. He remembered every detail of his life, and he could see it all in Technicolor vision. He was haunted by the past. He needed an outlet.

 

They started in the kitchen. Margaret sat her son down with a notebook and told him she wanted to learn about his style of cooking, since it differed from her own. William didn’t say much to begin with. He wrote down most everything he knew, and he mumbled through the rest. So Margaret asked him how certain foods interacted with others and why they came out with the flavors they did.

 

She made it an experiment. For a full week they spent every hour of the day trying different products together and finding the best way they interacted. Fruits and vegetables lined the countertop as they catalogued the flavor, time of season, and age of the produce. She was most pleased when her husband joined them. He didn’t have the analytical brain that she and their sons professed, but he enjoyed watching them and was always a willing test subject.

 

By the end of the week they had gone through far too much money and had wasted far too much food, but all of that meant nothing when William had smiled at the end of it. It was short and fleeting, but he’d flashed them a small little grin that was quickly hidden away once more.

 

Margaret expanded the field of study. They started their own garden together. They interacted with different markets around town. They went for road trips in order to locate the freshest and most satisfactory foods that were freshly grown.

 

Margaret had initially been leery of putting William back in a car, but out of everything that had happened that night – the accident seemed to be the least of William’s concerns. He didn’t portray any negative feelings towards cars in general, and if anything was only more careful to use a buckle if it was provided.

 

When they returned from one road trip, they arrived to discover that Arthur had purchased nearly two dozen books filled with recipes and food discussions, and alongside those were two battered texts on chemistry. Margaret had frowned at the last two, and Arthur had shrugged sheepishly. “They’re from my early school boy days. I found them in the attic. I thought that since cooking and chemistry have a lot in common-”

 

“What do they have in common?” William asked as he looked past the cook books and ran his fingers over the aged papers. There were pen marks in the margins and equations written on the sides. Haphazard notes were tucked into corners alongside questions about the work itself.

 

“Well…there’s a lot of stirring, and mixing, and measuring of things.” Her husband floundered awkwardly.

 

Margaret wasn’t sure it was as easy as all of that, but William was engrossed. He sat in the middle of the floor, not even bothering to move to a chair or couch, and read. He flipped from page to page, and didn’t so much as move to fetch a snack. Arthur sat with him, tinkering with a model train that he’d started to work on, and Margaret ran through some calculations for a theorem she was dabbling with.

 

When dinner time came along, William brought his chemistry book with him as he prepared some food for everyone. He barely looked up from the pages, moving mostly on autopilot. More than once Margaret had to tell him to pay attention to where he was cutting or snatch a knife from his hand when it looked like he was about to commence chopping without all eyes on deck.

 

He finished both books by the end of the next day, and Arthur walked him and Red Beard down to the local store to buy some updated copies. Within the month, William had marched his way through several thick text books and was requesting samples of chemicals to practice with and science sets to work around.

 

Margaret knew better than to buy the standard children’s equipment that most parents bought and went straight to the source. She contacted old friends from University and found the names of their suppliers. Then, together, she and William began to create a laboratory in the sun room. As a joke, she even purchased a pair of oversized goggles to fit around Red Beard’s face while he sat watching William work.

 

His delight at all things chemical only grew. His excitement became infectious. It seeped over into other aspects of his life, and his smiles came more easily, his words came more often. He engaged in proper conversation, and he finally started to move out of his shell. He explained what he was working on to his father, who never grew tired of listening to him talk.

 

They listened to everything he had to say, because there were moments where he stopped talking about chemicals and food, science and meals. Sometimes he stopped talking about the millions of meaningless things that surrounded him, but never really _sustained_ him. Sometimes, just for a moment, he’d bring up the past, and they could finally start working at the heart of the matter.

 

In those rare moments of honesty, William would talk about Uncle Rudy and how he dressed. He’d talk about Alice’s prompt, but caring, nature. He’d talk about walks in London and playing pirates on the stairs. And once: he spoke about the night of the ballet.

 

It had been late, and William had been mostly going through the motions with his chemistry set. He’d been thinking so hard that he’d accidentally burned his hand, and Arthur turned off the heat to his Bunsen and brought him to the sink to ease the pain under the faucet. “I miss Captain Thomas.” William whispered, barely audible over the sound of running water. He didn’t look up at his parents as he spoke. Margaret stood nearby, obviously worried but not daring to speak up now that William had brought up the name of his dear friend. “And Greg…I miss Greg too.”

 

“I’m sorry, son.” Arthur told him, honest and good. He didn’t try to hide the facts, nor alter them in anyway.

 

“Greg was going to be my Boatswain, ‘cause Red Beard was already my First Mate and Mycroft didn’t want to sail with me.” It was the first time William had mentioned anything revolving pirates since he’d come home. Margaret bit her lip to keep from saying anything that could distract her son. William finally kept talking. “He was going to call me Sherlock, ‘cause it’s a misnomer and pirates always have pseudonyms. He said he’d stay with me forever, and we’d go on adventures together.” William’s eyes were still locked on the faucet, but now they were starting to fill with tears, and Margaret wondered what memory was playing through his mind. She hoped it was a good one, and not of Greg’s final moments. “‘Cept he’s dead now, and Mycroft never wanted to be with me to begin with, and I’m never going to be a pirate.”

 

“Will?” Arthur reached out and guided his son’s body so it was turned to face him. “Do you know how you got your name?” William shrugged, keeping his eyes downcast and away from his father.

 

“Your mother and I always wanted to name you ‘William,’ but we gave your brothers the chance to come up with your middle names. Sherrinford chose ‘Scott.’ Mycroft chose ‘Sherlock,’ because your hair was so yellow when you were born. You were our fair-haired boy, our angel, we would let get away with anything. You’ve been a little pirate since the moment you came into this world, and you stole our hearts and never gave them back. I never met Greg, but if I had, I would have been proud to have known him. He saved your life, he kept you safe, and if you want to go by ‘Sherlock’ now instead of ‘William’, in order to preserve his memory and keep your promise to be a pirate alive, then I will gladly never call you that again. You are _very_ wanted. Your brother chose that name because he knew you’d be the one that stole us entirely. He was right, and I never want to see you doubt who you are. Greg wanted to be a pirate with you, to keep you safe- and he did what any Boatswain would do for his Captain. He kept you safe. Now _live_ as a pirate would, and don’t you ever doubt yourself again.”

 

William finally lifted his eyes up to his father and wrapped his arms around his neck. Father and son held each other tight, and Margaret rubbed tears from her eyes as she looked at the pair. She programmed this moment into her memories.

 

The healing process still had a long way to go, but it had started, and it had started strong.

 

As William nodded against his father’s throat, she felt like a dark chapter in their lives had closed.

 

‘William’ was no more. ‘Sherlock’ was here to stay.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> Please follow me on Tumblr for story updates, one shots, and various other musings. Feel free to prompt me as well! 
> 
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